A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

CHAPTER ONE

       The end of November …

      THE WORKERS AT THE diamond mine in South Africa were threatening to strike again, they had a staff member at the jewellery store filching merchandise and he had a board meeting to prepare for.

      His plate was full to overflowing and he was tired and stressed and … horny. Man, he was horny. He wanted, needed, craved sex … and so he should after a five-month drought. And whose fault was that, Einstein? He could have walked into any function in New York City and had any piece of tail he wanted—single, engaged, married, even!—but every time he decided to go for it the image of storm-grey eyes in a pixie face flicked across his retina and the moment passed.

      He didn’t want any woman. James wanted Riley. That night they’d spent together was the best and worst time he’d spent with a woman in … hell, for ever. An amazing night because he had shared explosive, passionate sex with a woman he cared about and that emotional connection added a depth to sex he’d long forgotten about.

      The worst night because he had, a long time ago, deliberately chosen not to combine sex and emotion again.

      His body, which apparently did not connect with his, reputedly, very sharp brain, suddenly craved the one person he shouldn’t want. Remind your junk why she is out of bounds, Moreau. This normally stopped him from storming down to her basement studio in the Moreau International building and taking her on her weird coloured couch.

       Three, two, one … go. Or, failing that, just go back to work.

      Before he could do either his desk phone buzzed, followed by his PA’s amused voice. ‘James, Riley wants to see … Oh, she’s already at the door and on her way in.’

      Think of the devil and she appears …

      James looked across his spacious office towards the door that was opening and Riley strode inside, dressed in a black skirt, a black cashmere turtleneck and high-heeled black boots. She always wore heels in an effort to look taller, not that they helped … much.

      She took his breath away every single time he saw her.

      He wished he could run his hand down that fall of bright red hair, feel her silky-smooth skin under that black jumper. She had a perfect body, he thought—all woman, despite her pint-size package. And she’d felt amazing in his arms—fragrant, heated skin, breathy cries. She was still the only woman who had the ability to rocket blood to his groin simply by stepping into the room.

      Under his desk, James adjusted the crotch of his suddenly tight trousers and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up onto the corner of his desk. This was the first time that they had been alone in five months and he wondered what had prompted her to collar him in his office, on his turf.

      Colour him intrigued.

      Maybe she was as frustrated as he was and she was about to offer some recreational office sex … Yeah, in your dreams, Moreau. He knew what Riley looked like when she was turned on and big worried eyes and a tense jaw were not part of her ‘dome-now’ look.

      No, he immediately clocked that, whatever it was that Riley had to say, it wasn’t going to be good news.

      James dropped his feet and stood up, unable to help the surge of protectiveness she always generated in him. He didn’t like it but he’d known her all his life and it was part of who he was. ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter? Are your folks okay? Your brothers?’

      Riley shook, then nodded her head. Well, that helped … not. She lifted up her hand to halt his progress across the room and James, seeing how she was struggling to get her words out, decided to help her by stopping and waiting.

      When she finally found her voice, what she said rocked the foundations of his world. It was nothing that he could ever have anticipated.

      ‘I wanted to personally tell you that I’m leaving Moreau International. I’ll have my resignation letter on your desk by the end of the day.’

      Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and walked straight out of his office.

      SHE’D DONE IT, Riley thought, walking past his PA’s desk, blindly heading to the elevators at the end of the long passage. She had told James and now she had to leave—she couldn’t live in limbo any more.

      She couldn’t live like this any more.

      Riley blinked back tears, resisting the urge to just stop and place her forehead against the cool wall. This was one of the longest, busiest corridors in the building and she just needed to get to her basement studio, her sanctuary, where she could be alone.

      There was nothing left for her in this city any more. She loved her job as chief window designer for Moreau’s; it had been the only thing that had carried her through the last nearly half year but it was no longer enough, she thought, as she caught and ruthlessly stopped the sob in her throat.

      The past five months had been tough on her, mentally and emotionally. The last whisper of her dreams around James had been shattered that night and since then her life seemed to be spiralling out of control. Not to be dramatic, but she felt as if she’d not only lost her dreams but, to an extent, her way as well. Alienation and loneliness now characterised her life. When her best friend, Morgan, had fallen in love with Noah, it was so natural that he became her priority and she hardly saw Morgan these days. It was so normal and so healthy but Riley acutely felt the absence in her life. Especially since she and James hadn’t exchanged more than ten words in far too long. They knew each other too well, shared too many memories, were part of each other’s families and their disconnection felt strange, unnatural.

      It was better this way, Riley told herself again. She’d finally come to accept that they were simply not meant to be together. She needed to move on and create new dreams, find another way to be fulfilled, happy.

      As she went to step into the lift, Riley felt a strong hand on her arm and was pulled to a stop. Dang, so close …

      ‘My office, now,’ James growled from above her head.

      A dark, sculpted eyebrow lifted and her large, expressive grey eyes shot silver lightning in his direction. ‘No.’

      ‘We need to talk about the fact that you didn’t just blow your budget for the Christmas windows, you blew it with the strength of a Category five hurricane.’

      Okay, not what she was expecting. Maybe he didn’t want to announce her resignation in front of the ten-strong crowd of his employees who were waiting for the lifts so Riley decided to play along. ‘You’ll understand why when you see the windows. They are incredibly special this year.’

      ‘They still need to come in under budget, Riley.’ She thought she heard him mutter, ‘Damn artists …’ under his breath.

      ‘Is that what you came all this way to tell me?’ she asked, her expression facetious. ‘You could have just sent an e-mail.’

      ‘You could’ve given me a better explanation as to why,’ James replied and they both knew that he wasn’t talking about the windows and her lack of budgeting skills.

      James clocked the curious glances from his staff, their ping-pong eyes, and his glower immediately wiped their faces into ‘not listening’ expressions. Hah! Of course they were …

      ‘I’m not arguing with you in front of an audience. My office, now,’ James ordered.

      Uh … no.

      ‘I’m not going to argue with you at all.’ Riley bared her teeth at him in a smile that held all the charm of a snakebite. ‘Bye.’

      As she stepped towards the open lift, Riley flipped him one last look and abruptly realised that he looked stressed, annoyed and exhausted and that he’d just hit his ceiling of tolerance. He had a slow to burn temper but when it ignited it scorched like a flamethrower. She suspected that she’d put a