Tidings of Great Joy

First Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Oh, excuse me!"

"No apology necessary."

"Didn't I stick your finger with my toothpick?"

"A few stitches and it'll be as good as new." He shrugged negligently and sucked on his injured finger.

Ria laughed. "I'm sorry."

"Forget it."

"Please take the shrimp."

"Uh-uh. If you've had your eye on that particular shrimp, I wouldn't dream of depriving you of it."

Ria smiled up into an incredibly handsome face. It sat atop one heck of a good body too. Tall, slender, outfitted in a dark three-piece suit, white shirt, red tie. Red tie? Well, it was Christmas Eve. The tie and matching silk handkerchief, three corners of which were peeking out of his breast pocket, were his concessions to the holiday. Where other men might look silly because of such frivolity, this one had the panache to carry it off well without its threatening his masculinity. The wide white smile helped. Guileless, open, warm. Growing warmer by the second. Or was that the furnace in her own belly being stoked by that smile and his dazzling blue eyes?

"Ria Lavender." She switched her plate from right hand to left so she could shake hands with him.

"Taylor MacKensie." He didn't have a plate yet, only the cocktail toothpick that had been about to skewer the same shrimp her toothpick had aimed for. He shook hands with her.

"The Taylor MacKensie?" she asked. Her hand wanted to snuggle in the warm, firm clasp of his forever.

"Is there a the Taylor MacKensie?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He liked the outdoors. And the outdoors liked him. Its ravages had saved him from being pretty. Although that square jaw was far from what one could define as pretty. "Are you the famous City Councilman MacKensie, candidate for mayor?"

He bowed stiffly. "The same. It's a pleasure, Mrs. Lavender."

Ria cocked her head to one side. "Very clever."

"What?"

"Mrs. Lavender. You're clearly manipulating me into telling you whether or not I'm married."

He lowered his voice to a confidential pitch. "The suspense is killing me."

"It's Ms. and has never been Mrs."

"Hot damn," he said, snapping his fingers. "I've always had phenomenal good luck."

Immensely pleased with what they saw, they stared at each other until someone jostled Taylor from behind. "Uh, more shrimp?" he asked courteously.

"I've already got an immodest number, but thank you."

He glanced down the length of the holiday buffet table, shopping the variety of food. "Can we talk turkey?"

Ria liked his sense of humor. So far there was nothing about him she didn't like. And she loved turkey. She flashed him her own rendition of a dazzling smile. "Please."

He picked up a plate for himself and they moved along the buffet, serving themselves, though food was now the last thing on their minds. The Grahams' Christmas Eve open house had taken on new interest. Each had attended the party out of a sense of obligation and had planned to leave after making an appearance. Taylor forgot the excuse he had intended to give the hosts for having to leave early. Ria was relieved of having to dream up one.

"Where shall we sit?" Taylor scanned the crowded living room, looking for two empty seats close together. There were single chairs scattered here and there, but he seemed disinclined to claim one, and Ria was glad.

Spontaneously she asked him, "How friendly do you feel like being?"

"I can be downright rude and still sleep nights," he told her with a devilish grin.

"Then follow me."

Winking conspiratorially at the bartender, Taylor picked up a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses. Ria headed for the staircase. A Persian runner was secured to the steps with brass rods, but the staircase still appeared to be contemporary because of its cantilevered construction.

"That is a really knockout dress," Taylor remarked as they climbed the stairs.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. His eyes were trained on her spine, which was left bare by the low back of her thickly sequined blue dress. It was cut equally low in the front, dipping to a deep V between her breasts. The skirt was narrow and was hemmed straight across her knees. The waist was cinched with a wide self-belt. The padded shoulders were decorated with a design formed of silver sequins. A matching sequin-covered clasp held back one side of her long, straight hair.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The stairs led to a gallery, which overlooked the rooms below. "This was a great idea," Taylor said as they glanced down at the noisy crowd.

"I'm glad I thought of it too."

They stood at the railing for a moment, staring at each other. He looked much hungrier for a bite of her lower lip than he did for any of the food on his plate. She would have enjoyed being nibbled. "This way," she said gruffly.

She led him into a spacious room lit only by the fire in the fireplace and the mammoth Christmas tree in the corner. The room was furnished with white leather sofas and chairs as soft and plush as marshmallows. The pile of the butterscotch-colored carpet almost swallowed the high heels on Ria's black satin shoes. She crossed the room and set her plate on the glass-topped coffee table.

"The light switch is on your left," she told Taylor. He was standing in the wide doorway, appreciatively surveying the room. "But if your hands are full I can get it."

"Do you mind if we leave it like this?"

Holding his gaze, she shook her head. "Actually, I prefer it this way."

"Me too."

He joined her where she stood, between the sofa and the fireplace, and by tacit agreement they sat on the floor. Ria folded her legs beneath her hips. Taylor sat with one knee raised, his back against the couch.

Expertly, he opened the champagne so that it only burped loudly, but didn't spew. Ria tipped her head to salute this expertise and held up her glass. He poured. When his glass was brimming, he raised it to hers.

"Merry Christmas, Ria."

"Merry Christmas, Taylor."

Looking at each other over their glasses, they drank. He smacked his lips. "Far better than the champagne punch."

"Hm." She let the champagne bubble and sparkle inside her mouth before swallowing its icy heat. "There's nothing like the real thing."

Taylor popped an olive-crowned canape into his mouth. "How did you know where to find this getaway room?"

"I designed it."

Obviously impressed, his eyebrows climbed up his forehead a fraction. "Interior design?"

"No. I only made recommendations on how it should be decorated. I designed it from the studs out. I was the architect."

"You were the architect who designed this house?"

She nodded. Methodically chewing a cherry tomato stuffed with crab salad, Taylor surveyed the room again, looking at it from a new perspective. From the carpet beneath them to the cathedral ceiling, he liked what he saw. Ria could tell that by the way his eyes lingered on every structural detail.

She was expecting a compliment, so when he said, "It's snowing," she was surprised. She tilted her head back and saw that flakes as big and fluffy as goose down were settling on the clear skylights overhead.

"How lovely, a white Christmas," she said with hushed reverence.

"I'm moved to break out in song. Want me to?"

"Can you sing?"

"I sound great in the shower."

"Then maybe you'd better not."

"You don't believe I can sing? Guess you'll just have to join me in the shower to find out."

Ria calmly took a sip of champagne. The innuendo wasn't offensive. His smile was too disarming. Still, it was sexy, just as he had intended it to be.

Setting her glass down, she glanced up at him through her lashes. "You're as dangerous as they say, Mr. MacKensie."

"Who say?" He was suspiciously sniffing at an anchovy.

"Everybody who's ever accused you of being a lady-killer."

"Oh, them." He shrugged dismissively, both at the allegation and the anchovy, which he returned to his plate. "Political enemies started those rumors."

"Or women scorned."

"I suppose there are a few of those." His smile was rueful.

"I didn't mean to imply that you're not a serious politician and businessman," she said sincerely. From reading newspaper articles about him, she knew that he owned and operated an electrical-contracting business. "Despite all the mud your opponent is slinging, I think you'll win the mayor's race."

"Will you vote for me?"

"If you'll pour me another glass of champagne." Coquettishly, she held up her glass.

He topped it off, then refilled his own as he said, "I wish all votes were as easy to come by. Why are you going to vote for me?"

"Because you're a progressive thinker. Maybe a tad too outspoken and aggressive."

"Bleeker called me `street tough.'"

She laughed over the label his opponent had stuck on him. "The description fits, though I'm sure Bleeker didn't mean it as a compliment. I don't think you'd ever let anybody bully you."

"You're right. I grew up in the suburbs, an all-American kid. But I held my own with the bad guys."

"You impress me as a mover and shaker. Some people are afraid of change, but for a long time I've thought that this city needed some changes."

"I only hope I'll be able to move and shake all the deadwood on the city council. If I'm elected," he grumbled. Then seconds later in the same tone of voice he said, "Damn."

"What?"

"I forgot to get turkey after all."

"Here, have some." She offered him her plate.

He held up both hands. "No, really, I couldn't."

Was she getting tipsy, or was his protest actually that overstated and funny? "Go on. I insist. After all, I took the shrimp away from you." She picked up a sliver of white meat and extended it to him.

He stared at it as though it were the last morsel of food on earth but he was unworthy of eating it. "You won the shrimp in a fair fight."

"Please?" She lifted her hand closer to his mouth.

"Well, if you insist."

He bit into the succulent slice of turkey breast. It had never occurred to Ria that teeth could be sexy, but she felt that bite right above her belly button. It was a thrilling sensation. His breath was warm against her fingers. The turkey was so tender, it could have been cut with a fork, but he moved his head from side to side slightly, as though tearing at it. The bottom of her stomach dropped away, as if she'd just cannoned over the highest peak of the roller coaster.

He said, "Delicious."

"Nice and juicy."

"Uh-huh."

She realized that he was looking at her mouth. His eyes were as unblinking as a predatory cat's. She felt vulnerable beneath that steady blue gaze. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the stem of her glass of champagne.

Only when she moved and broke the spell did he stop staring. "I like this Christmas tree better than the one downstairs," he said.

Ria was glad he had changed the subject. It relieved the tension in her chest. The party noise coming from downstairs was a faraway roar. Occasionally a burst of laughter would puncture the quiet, but basically the only sound in the room was that of the popping applewood logs in the grate and the sexy whisper of evening clothes each time one of them moved. A take-your-shoes-off-and-be-comfortable kind of mood had settled over them. She had never felt so relaxed. Anywhere. At any time. Nor had she ever felt so breathless with anticipation. As a safety precaution, she kept her shoes on.

She looked at the Christmas tree. Its fragrant green branches were decorated with twinkling colored lights, glass balls, tinsel, and candy canes. "I like this one best too," she said. "I prefer the old-fashioned kind."

"They don't count unless you can smell them."

"Right. The one downstairs in the living room is gorgeous, but so formal."

"Untouchable."

"It was done by a professional decorator. You can tell that the family decorated this one. The ornaments are irregularly spaced."

Her host and hostess, the Grahams, had several grown children and numerous grandchildren. Ria could imagine the laughter, the affectionate bantering, the squeals of pleasure that would echo off these walls when the myriad gift-wrapped boxes were ripped open the following morning.

Leaning closer to her, Taylor whispered, "I'll bet if you looked close, you'd see some of those ornaments are tarnished and broken."

She nodded dreamily. "But they're the most cherished ones. The older the better. They're the reminders of past Christmases, and will never be thrown out."

He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "The lady architect has a sentimental streak."

Pleasurably, she broke out in goose bumps. "I confess."

No longer pretending to eat, they abandoned their plates. Another kind of hunger had set in. There was no sense in denying it. Unabashedly Taylor stared at her. "I've never had a battle of toothpicks with someone as pretty as you. Are you sure you're real?"

It was on the tip of Ria's tongue to say, "Touch me and see," but she thought better of it. He looked ready to pounce and gobble. If the rumors were true, Taylor MacKensie needed no encouragement. Whether such rumors were maliciously sowed by his political enemies or not, they must have some basis in truth. Ria was too level-headed to be swayed by a smooth line and a seductive smile. But she was having too good a time to rebuff him. So she decided to keep them on a friendly and flirting basis.

"Oh, I'm real, all right. What you didn't know," Ria drawled, "was that my stomach was growling most indelicately when I spotted that fat pink shrimp."

"Hush, now." He laid his index finger vertically against her lips. "You're making my mouth water."

Time out! Ria thought. So much for flirting. It was no longer harmless. Taylor MacKensie was making her mouth water. The softly lit room, the fireplace, the Christmas ambience, were having a dangerous effect on her. She felt herself losing control of the situation and knew she had to get it back.

"Maybe we'd better go downstairs and mingle."

He frowned, but seemed to recognize the advisability of that. This was getting way out of hand way too fast. "I guess we'd better. There are lots of voters down there."

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she gladly accepted. She should have eaten more. The champagne had gone straight to her head. And to her thighs. They were rubbery. She swayed slightly as she stood up. He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her, pressing her against him briefly.

"Okay?" His voice was merely a low growl that reminded her of animal mating sounds.

"Yes, fine."

He released her, but she felt his reluctance to do so. Carrying their plates with them, they descended the staircase. "I like the house," he said. "Very innovative. Contemporary without being stark."

"I was pleased with how it turned out," Ria replied modestly.

"Don't let her get by with that."

They turned at the sound of their hostess's voice. Decked out in plaid taffeta that whistled as she approached them, Mrs. Graham beamed a smile upon Ria and embraced her affectionately. "She's far too modest, Taylor. I'm glad you've met our town's most ingenious, original architect. I threw this bash solely for the purpose of showing off Ria's masterpiece."

"I think you have excellent taste," Taylor said, smiling his charming smile. "Both in houses and in architects."

Mrs. Graham took Ria's arm and drew her away from Taylor's side. "A friend of mine has been dying to meet you, Ria. She's pea green over my house and wants one of her own. She owns a lovely piece of property--For heaven's sake, Taylor, don't look so downcast. You'll catch up with Ria later. Now, be a good boy and spread yourself around. I think some of the men are playing pool in the game room."

He caught up with Ria three-quarters of an hour later. She was one of a group collected around the white grand piano. Taylor overcame the decked halls, boughs of holly, not to mention the fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-las, in order to reach her side and join her on the chorus of an ancient Yuletide carol.

"Hi."

"Hi. Did you play pool?"

"Yep. And won. I didn't collect my bets, though. I'm always charitable at Christmastime."

Another song was already under way. They joined in. In the middle of the second verse, Ria leaned back. "You were right. You--"

"What? I can't hear you." He leaned down far enough for her lips to graze the peach fuzz on his earlobe.

"You were right," she repeated. He tilted his head and looked down at her quizzically. "You can't sing."

Laughing, he squeezed her elbow.

The party began to wind down. The weather was rapidly becoming a factor in people's getting home safely. Together, Ria and Taylor drifted toward the room where a maid was holding coats. When she came back with Ria's, Ria saw Taylor give a start of surprise. He took the full-length silver fox from the maid and draped it over Ria's shoulders, slinging his overcoat over his arm. They progressed to the front door, where the Grahams were bidding everyone good night.

"It was lovely. Thank you for inviting me," Ria said to the distinguished couple. She kissed her hostess on the cheek.

Mrs. Graham patted Ria's hand. "The party was lovely because my house is lovely, and my house is lovely because you are lovely. And if you think I'm going to let you drive off this hill alone in weather like this, you've got another think coming."

"I'm used to driving in snow," Ria exclaimed.

"But not down that sheer cliff we mistakenly call a road," Mr. Graham said.

"I'll be happy to drive her home." Taylor stepped forward with the bravura of an Alamo volunteer crossing the sword-drawn line in the sand.

"Excellent," Mrs. Graham said with a wide smile. "Darling, be sure to contribute to Taylor's campaign fund," she told her husband.

"But my car," Ria protested. She wasn't accustomed to being looked after like a child.

"I'll get someone to drive it down to you tomorrow. You'd better go now, before that icy hill gets worse. Good night, dears, and merry Christmas."

The Grahams waved them off perfunctorily and turned their attention to other departing guests. Without causing a scene, Ria had no choice but to submit to the nudge Taylor gave her elbow.

"You don't really mind, do you?" he asked her, bending his head against the blowing snow.

"No. Do you?"

"Of course not."

"They put you on the spot. You didn't have much choice."

"Sure, I did. I told you earlier that I can be downright rude." His grip on her arm tightened. "Besides, even if they hadn't asked, I would have offered you a lift. I wouldn't like it either if you tried to drive home alone in this weather."

"I'm sure I can handle a little snow."

He glanced up at the sky. "It's more like a blizzard. And remember," he said, squeezing her elbow, "I know how much champagne you guzzled."

Laughing together, they moved along the row of parked cars in the driveway until they reached a new Corvette. As he fumbled in his pocket for the keys, he said, "You know, I'm still not sure you're real. You're gorgeous, talented, smart, amusing. You've got your own jewelry and--"

"These?" she asked, indicating the chandeliers of rhinestones dangling from her ears. "These are costume."

"But this isn't." He ran his fingers through the fur collar of her coat. For warmth, she had bunched it up close to her ears. The coat had been her one material indulgence when she joined the most prestigious firm of architects in the city. She had chosen to wrap herself in yards of silver fox rather than the leather interior of a fancy automobile.

"You've already got your own fur coat, on top of all your other attributes. There's got to be something wrong with you." He peered at her through the falling snow. "You must have rotten teeth."

She swatted at his nose before ducking into the car. The road was much more perilous than Ria would have felt comfortable driving down. She was glad the Grahams had insisted that she ride with someone, although she wasn't certain that Taylor MacKensie was the wisest choice.

She felt muzzy. Her ears were ringing, and it wasn't the echo of Christmas Eve church bells. She wasn't sure all her toes were still there. That could be due to walking through the snow in evening pumps. But how could she account for feeling so warm everywhere else? The car's heater was blasting them with hot air, true, but the heat she felt was generated from beneath her own skin.

Philosophically she determined that she had imbibed too much Christmas cheer or Taylor MacKensie's masculine magnetism had made her high. Either way, she was ashamed of herself for behaving so foolishly.

The windshield wipers were clanking as hypnotically as a metronome. Snowflakes merrily danced in the beam of the headlights. The night had a surreal quality. But if this was fantasy, who needed reality? While it lasted, why not enjoy it?

"Music?"

"Pardon?" He nodded toward the radio. "Yes, please." She winked at him. "If you promise not to sing along."

"Looks like they're all playing Christmas carols tonight," he said after punching in several stations.

"That's fine with me. I enjoy hearing them once a year."

"Yeah, me too. How come you're spending Christmas Eve alone?" he asked suddenly. "I'd have thought there'd be a dozen beaux lined up at your door begging for a date on the night before Christmas."

Ria thanked him for the compliment. "The man I'm seeing is away."

"There's a man?"

"Yes. He has an elderly mother in Florida. He's spending the holiday with her."

Taylor digested that information without comment. "Parents?"

"They decided to take a trip to England to visit friends. They were reluctant to go at this time of year, but I urged them to. After all, Christmas Eve is just like any other night."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, looking across at her.

For as long as it was safe, their eyes held. "No," she said softly, shaking her head, "but I didn't want my folks to miss this trip on my account."

"What about the man?"

"I couldn't be responsible for his neglecting his mother." To divert the conversation away from herself, she asked, "What about you? Why are you alone? No family?"

"My dad, but he has another family now. He and Janey live in Los Angeles." He explained that his father had remarried a considerably younger woman after his mother's death. They'd had two children together. "I've got a stepbrother and stepsister young enough to be my own kids. I'm always welcome at their house, but I think my being there makes everybody uncomfortable, afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing."

"Friends?" She meant, specifically, girlfriends, and hated herself for wanting to know.

"I was invited to go on a ski trip with a group of people."

"How large a group?"

He grinned, letting her know that he knew what she was fishing for. "Seven. Among them the woman I'm seeing. I backed out at the last minute."

"Why? Did you have a tiff?"

"No. The day before yesterday I sprained my ankle playing racquetball, and decided it would be really stupid to ski on it. That's when we had the tiff."

"She went without you?"

He shrugged. "She's a very independent lady."

"Funny, how Christmas can either be hectic and exuberant, or empty and sad."

"It depends on whether it's shared with someone or spent alone."

"I guess. Although it could be terrible if shared with someone you didn't love, or even like. I think that would be worse than spending it alone."

Ria had given him her street address when they left the Grahams. He drove straight to it without asking for directions. The young, volatile candidate for mayor knew his city well.

Pulling to a stop at the curb in front of her house, he turned the key and cut the Corvette's motor. The windshield wipers ceased their rhythmic clacking. "O Come All Ye Faithful" fell silent in mid-verse. Neither passenger in the car moved. Finally, at the same time, they turned to each other and started talking.

"Thank--"

"I could be--"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. Ladies first."

"I was just saying thank you for the ride."

Taylor turned his head and stared through the windshield, which was quickly becoming blanketed with snow. Ria could see him gnawing the inside of his jaw. He swiveled his head back around quickly. "I could be talked into a cup of coffee."

She hesitated only a few heartbeats before nodding. He got out and came around to open her door. His fingers curled firmly around her upper arm as they made their way up the treacherously icy sidewalk.

Ria took her key from her silver metal evening bag and opened the front door. The warm air inside embraced them like an old and beloved friend. Ria flipped on a wall switch. The end-table lamp didn't come on, as she had expected it to. Instead her Christmas tree lit up.

"Oh, I forgot. I plugged the lights into the socket operated by this switch."

"You should have had an electrician do it," he said teasingly. "Nice tree."

"Thank you."

"The old-fashioned kind."

Leaving her standing just inside the door, he walked over to the fireplace. Glowing red coals were still smoldering beneath a stack of charred wood. He moved the screen aside, stirred the coals with a poker, and added two new logs. They caught immediately.

In the bright firelight, the melting snowflakes on his hair and shoulders sparkled like diamonds. He turned and looked at Ria. His eyes, his shadowed face, the purposeful way he moved toward her, made her tremble.

"I'll put the coffee on," she said breathlessly.

He caught her hand as she went past him. "Ria?"

"What?"

"There's snow on your hair," he whispered. She shook her head. He watched the sensuous movement of her loose hair. "It's beautiful. Black as midnight. So shiny and silky. So seductive."

What was seductive, she thought, was the way he threaded his fingers through it and spread it out on the fur shoulders of her coat. His eyes moved over her face, down her throat, into the shadowy cleft between her breasts. Ria shivered, and said, "It'll be warm in just a minute."

"Baby, it's already warm."

His voice reminded her of the low purring of his car's engine. The power behind it was temperately held in check. One careless move and it could zoom out of control.

Stepping closer, he cupped her face between his hands and stroked her cold cheeks with his thumbs, warming them instantly. He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers.

His first kiss was light and questing. The next one was firm and questing. Ria gasped and quickly turned her head away. "I'm sorry," he said. "I had no right to do that. It's just that ... damn, I wanted to kiss you."

She lifted her face up to his again. She felt boneless, as light as air. Her eyes remained open only because they were greedy to look at him. "Don't apologize. This is Christmas Eve."

"In that case ..."

He kissed her again. This time his mouth opened over her lips, urging them to part. She complied. They tasted each other. Their tongues touched. Circuit completed. Nerve endings popped and hissed like live wires.

"You were right, Ria," he said in a raspy tone of voice, moving his lips against her dewy mouth. "There's nothing like the real thing."

He pulled her against him. His hands caressed her through the lavish fur of her coat. Then he flung it aside, twirling it out and away from her like a matador's cape. It landed on the couch, a few feet away. His eager and curious hands moved over her. They explored the shallow valley of her spine, her hips, her thighs--the backs, sides, and fronts of them.

She made a startled sound when he splayed his hand over her lower body. Taylor didn't remove his hand, though he raised his head and looked down into her face with an unspoken question in his eyes. She was panting through parted, moist lips. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she gazed up at him. Then she tilted her body forward, filling the hollow of his palm with her mound.

They both groaned with the delicious pain of desire. He stroked her, petted her, pressed her, seeking the source of her heat. While kissing madly, he shrugged out of his suit coat. Ria thought that there must have been at least a thousand buttons on his vest, but at last they were all undone and her hands were caressing his chest through his white silk shirt.

He laid his hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed down her dress. His fingertips skated down her throat and over her collarbone. She threw her head back and he kissed her neck. His mouth was open, hot, fiercely possessive.

Ria fumbled with the buttons of his shirt after having pulled it from his waistband. When they were all undone, her fingers combed through his generous chest hair. She reveled in the shape of his form and the vibrancy of his skin.

Reaching around her, he slid down the back zipper of her dress. The bodice dropped to her waist. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Reflexively she raised her hands to cover herself, but he gently drew her hands away.

"No, please," he whispered. "You're beautiful."

Entranced, he watched the fluid movement of her breasts as she withdrew her arms from her tight sleeves. He touched her so lightly that he was barely touching her at all as he framed her breasts between his hands. Then he slid his hands up the undersides of her arms all the way to her wrists. He raised her hands and folded them together around his neck.