One Christmas Night (Capitol Chronicles Book 6) Read online

  "God," she prayed. "I don't think I can wait any longer."

  With lightning speed James opened the bedside table and grabbed the foil pouch to protect them. Heat enveloped them as James leveled himself over her. Kneeing her legs apart, he entered her easily. Elizabeth let out a long breath, filled with three years of yearning. Emotion welled up inside her large enough to burst through her chest. His gentle movement took her by surprise as the intensity of feeling flooded her senses and threatened to overload.

  "James," she moaned. "I've missed you."

  "I've missed you too, honey."

  She didn't know how much he'd missed her, how many nights he'd dreamed of having her here in this room, in his bed, making love to her until she screamed. He wanted her to scream. Wanted her to call out his name in hungry desire. He wanted to possess her and be possessed by her. He kissed her again, grasping her supple buttocks and lifting her onto him. Her legs anchored behind him, giving him room. He sank deeper and deeper into her folds with each powerful stroke. His control has long since gone. Elizabeth did that to him, like no other woman ever had or ever could. With her he couldn't hold anything back. He gave and took as she did. Together they created the perfect match, a union that had no beginning and no end. With her he made love.

  James didn't remember how good she could feel. He touched her everywhere, cradling, crushing, kissing, massaging, until a great tide gripped him. His rhythm increased, intensified as he cried her name over and over. He never thought he'd ever have this feeling again. Then it happened. Great bursts of electrified air imploded, carrying them into the mushroom cloud of magnificent pleasure.

  She took his weight as the last after-shock ran through James and he collapsed onto her. They were both wet with perspiration and love. The room smelled sweet with the aftermath of their lovemaking. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. A smile curved her mouth as she closed her eyes, aware of every throbbing inch of his frame as it covered her, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His heart pounded against hers.

  After a time, James slid to the sheet over to her. He gathered her close, kissed her eyes, her cheeks and her mouth as tenderly as if he were saying goodnight. Then silently they slept.

  ***

  Dear James,

  Your visit sparked good memories of Christmases past. It sent me to the storage room. While rummaging through old boxes of decorations, I found a card you sent to me several years ago. The cover had a reproduction of the scraggly handwriting of eight year old Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to the editor of The New York Sun. Inside was printed the famous editorial run by the paper on September 21, 1897.

  You asked me if I believed in Christmas, and like Virginia's question, I'd like to answer it.

  Yes, James, I believe there is a Christmas. Last night a group of children came caroling in front of the shop. Their tiny faces were stung by the cold, their eyes wide with innocence and wonder. My heart grew so large I thought I would cry. When they left I walked through Georgetown, looking in the store windows. The streets were crowded with shoppers. I watched them picking out gifts for loved ones, deciding whether something was right for Uncle Jim or Aunt Agnes. It was easy to pick out the faces of lovers, holding hands and walking through the cobblestoned streets as they both made and shared Christmas memories.

  In each direction I looked, the windows were decorated with green and red for the coming holidays. In a small store close to M Street, I found a Black Santa mounted on his sleigh with the eight reindeer and a sack full of presents. I bought it. It's the first decoration I've bought in three years. The purchase made me smile, and a warmth filled my insides. Nothing has done that in a long time.

  At home I dragged the Christmas decorations out of storage and into the living room where I went through them all. Christmas is a time of sharing, remembering old friends and making new ones. Rereading the cards and carefully unpacking the bulbs we'd stored showed me how much I missed the merry making Christmas brings. The years I've spent without a Christmas seem empty compared to the ones where family and friends shared the joy.

  Happy Holidays

  Elizabeth

  James read the letter twice. In the wake of Elizabeth's unexpected arrival he'd forgotten about the it. It lay on the floor by the door, where he'd dropped it last night when he sprinted across the lawn. Taking it to the kitchen he read it a third time as coffee filled the pot and the aroma permeated the crisp air. He remembered last night. Elizabeth filled his arms and his world. He liked thinking of her sleeping upstairs. Sharing his bed and his life. He wanted to come to her each evening. Tell her his problems and share his happy moments. Had last night been the beginning of that?

  "Good morning." Elizabeth's voice was husky.

  James turned to find her leaning against the door. Her short curls were sleep-mussed and her eyes were only half open. The combination was so sexy his body hardened in response. She wore his green robe, its long sleeves and bulk dwarfing her.

  "The coffee smells good."

  He looked at the letter, then slowly brought his gaze back to her. She said nothing, but leveled herself away from the doorjamb and stood up straight. He went to her, folding her in his arms and kissing her left ear. It was enough for the moment. He wanted to, needed to be close to her. She'd been in the shower. He could smell the soap on her clean skin; skin his mouth found soft as morning dew. "Sleep well?" he asked.

  She nodded, snuggling against him. James slipped his fingers into her short curls and angled her head upward. He brushed her lips with his.

  "I got your letter," he said, his body growing harder against her.

  Elizabeth leaned back smiling.

  "Did you mean it?" he asked.

  "You'll have to wait till Christmas and see if Santa leaves anything for you. Of course, you know he only leaves presents for good little boys." Sticking her finger in her mouth she asked in an imitation child's voice. "Have you been a good little boy?"

  "I certainly hope so."

  Chapter 6

  The blue background of the computer screen didn't hold James's attention. For two days he'd thought of nothing but Elizabeth and their night of love making. After she'd appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and after they made breakfast, they made love again. For a second time they duplicated the fire that burned within them and refused to be extinguished after three years of separation. They were both late getting to the office that morning. Since then he had done very little work. It was good the market was slow the last day or two or he'd have to fire himself.

  With his jacket discarded and his sleeves already rolled up, he gave his full attention back to the screen. The price of Bristol-Myers Squibb stock had gone up in the amount of time he'd been day dreaming. He had several clients who would find that favorable if it held through the end of the year.

  "Hey?"

  James looked up. Theresa Simmons stood in the doorway. Her coat, as yellow as a summer sun, was splashed with arcs of bright red and purple. Theresa hadn't changed. Only she could use color as a statement. Fortunately for her, it worked.

  "It's after five o'clock, the market's closed, but I knew I'd find you here." Her smile was as bright as her wardrobe. "When are you gonna get a life?"

  "Theresa!" he called, getting up and rushing over to hug the six foot tall woman. "I didn't think I'd see you before the party."

  "I should be at Blackie's," she told him, checking her watch. "I'm meeting Janis and Harry for dinner and then we're going to Ford's.

  She mentioned her sister and brother-in-law as if they could wait. Theresa was forty-two and Janis was her personal Cupid. Without Theresa saying so, James knew there would be a surprise guest at dinner to round out the couples.

  "When I saw the light," Theresa went on. "I stopped so I could tell you to close up shop and go home."

  James laughed. "I'll be leaving soon and I do have a life." He thought of Elizabeth waiting for him. "Sit down a minute."

  Theresa lowered herself into one of the leather-tufted ch
airs that stood before James's massive desk. James took a seat behind it.

  "Anybody I know?"

  He nodded, but offered nothing else. He tried to keep the smile off his face, but each time he thought of the dark-skinned woman he couldn't help it.

  "Is it Elizabeth?"

  He nodded again.

  "Well why didn't you say so?" Her eyes were as large as gold coins. "It's about time. I thought after Claire's accident you two were doomed."

  "Don't jump to conclusions," James cautioned. "I've only been back here a short time. After the funeral and the trade commission investigation--" He stopped, not wanting to think about the accusations made against him.

  "We effectively covered that up," Theresa prompted, her voice softer and lower.

  That they had, James thought, trying to keep the frown off his face. They'd reversed everything Claire had done and erased any record of it. They'd destroyed the forged power of attorney copy giving Claire the right to act as agent for Invitation to Love. James shivered at what she could have done with that and how Elizabeth would have been devastated to find her beloved sister had ruined her business.

  "You went to London and I went to New York," he finished. "I came back a few months ago."

  "And Elizabeth?"

  "I've only seen her five or six times."

  "Well, what is wrong with you, man? I've never seen a woman as in love as Elizabeth was with you."

  James's mind flew to Elizabeth. He almost felt her naked body curled against his. Quickly he glanced at the small clock on the desk. In an hour, he'd pick her up. They were going Christmas shopping tonight.

  "She's different, Theresa. She took Claire's death hard and she still hasn't recovered. She puts up a strong front and anyone who doesn't really know her can't tell how miserable she is underneath."

  "So you're taking it slow?" Her expressive eyebrows raised.

  "I'm trying," he told her. "Actually I feel partly responsible."

  "How? It was an accident. You didn't drive your car into Claire's on purpose."

  "I don't feel responsible for the accident, but for abandoning Elizabeth."

  Theresa set her rather large purse on the floor and leaned forward in the chair. "Talk to me," she said.

  James appreciated the way her agile mind could read more in conversation than the words expressed. He knew she was trustworthy. Never had she broken a confidence and if it hadn't been for her quick thinking he might well be in jail this very minute.

  "Why did you accept that job in London?" he asked, apparently changing the subject. "It wasn't just the career move or being able to visit a foreign country. You had a perfectly good job here." He waved his arms about the room. Theresa had been the best broker he'd ever had. She had a knack for the market, could anticipate its changes with unerring accuracy. "Your salary was well above the norm. You had a score of friends and relatives and you lived comfortably." He stopped with a smile. "Despite Janis's tactics."

  "I wanted to escape," Theresa said. "Claire was my best friend. I knew her better than anyone, except maybe Elizabeth. I brought her here, convinced you to give her a job and she betrayed us both. I thought leaving the city would help the wounds heal faster."

  "So did I," James agreed. "I went to New York to manage the office there. The pace of this city is fast, but New York runs on tomorrow's schedule. I thought I could lose myself, forget the police interrogations and defending myself before the Securities and Exchange Commission," he paused. "We found an avenue for our pain and grief. Elizabeth remained here, alone. She had no other family and no one to call on, only the memories of her sister and her parents, all of whom had died and left her. Even her friends and her former fiancé had gone away."

  "It doesn't matter that she lashed vile accusations at you. Said you were responsible for Claire's death and that she hoped you'd rot in jail."

  "Claire had just died, leaving Elizabeth believing the lies she'd told her. Elizabeth's loyalties were divided. Her words were angry. I thought she'd get over them."

  "And she hasn't," Theresa finished for him. "No wonder she's still mourning Claire."

  "She's not exactly mourning. We have Mark to thank for that. He went to see her constantly. He'd drop by her shop to make sure everything was all right. He'd even send me letters and phone calls that always mentioned her. Finally, he called to say he couldn't go through another holiday seeing her acting instead of enjoying."

  "So you came back?" Her voice held no censure, no incredulousness, not even wonder. It held understanding. James was glad Theresa had returned. He needed her as much as he needed Elizabeth.

  For a long moment they were both silent. James thought of the girl he'd met the day she and Claire had moved next door to them. Everybody walked around her, carrying boxes and lamps, books and furniture. She looked lost and alone then too. James found out they'd told her she was too small to help. She sat in a lawn chair, her legs crossed Indian-style, a bowl of ice cream in her lap. He sat down and talked to her. After a few moments, she smiled and offered him her bowl. The ice cream had melted to a warm paste. He ate it anyway. He was sure that was the moment when he'd fallen in love with her. James wondered what Theresa was thinking. Glancing at the clock again, it was nearly time for him to go and Theresa was going to have to skip dinner or be late for the curtain at Ford's.

  "I talked to her on the phone a couple of days ago," Theresa mentioned. "She sounded fine."

  "She is fine," he told her. "She just needs some time."

  "She's had time, James," Theresa said, dryly. "What she needs in love."

  James watched his friend scrutinize him. He didn't attempt to hide his feelings.

  "You're in love with her." It was a statement.

  He nodded.

  ***

  Invitation to Love sat on 30th Street in the Georgetown section of Northwest Washington between N and O Streets. Several blocks away the tourist traffic moved as a human sea that waved toward the Wisconsin Avenue thoroughfare as if it was a welcoming shore. Parking was nonexistent as it was all over the District of Columbia. Fortunately, Elizabeth had secured the lot next to her shop where a maximum of four cars could park at the same time. Getting in and out of the small spaces required the kind of maneuvering that Washington drivers had come to know and understand. Behind the main shop were two additional spaces. Elizabeth's white corvette, gleaming under the halogen security lights, occupied one of them. James pulled his car into the other one.

  The building that housed Invitation of Love had once been a residence. Elizabeth had kept the basic outside structure, not wanting to destroy the neighborhood design of stately row houses by adding display windows. From the front the only designation of business was a prominent sign in the small yard etched in gold letters. Inside the building had been mostly kept in tact. A wall here and there had been removed or built to accommodate the need for work space. When she'd begun the hand written invitation business, she'd had to lived upstairs. Now she used it for storage.

  Unfolding his large frame from the Lexus, James took the four steps to the back door two at a time. Opening the screen he knocked lightly. Moments later Elizabeth pulled the lace curtain aside and smiled when she saw him. Now that's what I came through this hot, dusty summer day to hear. A line from the Long Hot Summer ran through his head. It wasn't a hot summer day, but a blustery, wintry, cold one and he hadn't heard anything, but seen her smile and nearly dissolved.

  "I brought you something," James said when she opened the door. He passed through it holding the paper bag up for her view.

  "What is it?"

  Elizabeth locked the door and pulled the bolt into place. She followed him back to her office that was crowded with paper samples, cases of pen tips, boxes of greeting cards and flowers. The smell of pine boughs permeated the air. James noticed the artificial tree sitting on her desk, the fireplace was lighted and mistletoe had been hung over the door. He didn't comment. Elizabeth grabbed his arm. "What's in the bag?" she asked.


  James caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her quickly on the mouth. "Something you can't resist."

  He let her take it from him when she reached for it. She tore it opened and grabbed the contents.

  "Ice cream?" she questioned.

  "It's butter pecan," he said as if that was an answer.

  "Moving in day." The memory hit her like a thunderbolt. "You remember."

  "I'll never forget."

  "Do you want to eat it now?"

  "We haven't had dinner and this will certainly ruin your appetite."

  He imitated her mother. Elizabeth remembered her mother telling her that every time she found butter pecan ice cream in the grocery bag. Since they had often been in each other's houses she knew James had heard her mother say that a hundred times.

  "If I suggested we wait until after the mall, would you agree?" she asked, in her best parent's voice.

  "No," he smiled.

  "Then you get some bowls while I put on my jeans." She headed toward the door leading to the stairs. She'd hung an extra change of clothes there this morning.

  "I'd much rather help you."

  Elizabeth paused in the doorway. She turned back to James. "That might not be a bad idea, but then we'd have to eat ice cream paste." Her smile was sly. She turned again.

  "We've done it before," he called after her.

  ***

  James pressed the accelerator as the car shot pass the legal speed limit on it's way to Tyson's Corner Mall. Elizabeth sat in the warm interior smiling to herself. She wondered why he'd thought of the ice cream. They had shared it many times as children. When she was five, and still believed in Santa Claus, James had dressed in a red suit with white fur and surprised her. They'd eaten the bowl of warm ice cream she insisted on putting out for Santa instead of the traditional cookies and milk. Elizabeth laughed out loud.