Would-Be Christmas Wedding. Debra & Regan Webb & Black

bar.”

      She watched him walk away—drinking in the way his trousers fit his backside, like a woman too long stranded in the desert. Abruptly she realized he might catch her foolish behavior in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.

      She specifically made the effort not to check if he’d caught her staring, instead turning her gaze back toward the door. Her willpower was rewarded as her friends came in together in a rush of cold air and happy voices. They raised a glass to success, double-checked every last-minute detail, right down to their personal shoe selections, and then parted company until tomorrow.

      Half an hour had never seemed to drag more. Which was a terrible thing to be thinking. These were friends she had enjoyed for years. Friends who’d carried her through all stages of motherhood, a few lonely anniversaries and eventually her husband’s diagnosis and decline.

      Cecelia pushed all of that to the back of her mind. That was the past. Her future was waiting for her on the other side of the holiday season. And oh, my, her present was right there watching her from the end of the bar. With her purse and wool coat over her arm, she squeezed through the growing crowd to join Emmett Holt.

      “Hi.” Reminding herself she couldn’t be certain about his motives and discovering her intuition was blurred by her shocking attraction to him, she didn’t know how else to start. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

      “Not a problem,” he said, offering her his seat. “I enjoyed the view. Would you like another glass of wine?”

      “Just water, please.” She didn’t think alcohol would help her manage her fascination and she needed to focus if she was going to get some straight answers out of him.

      He signaled the bartender, and she had a tall glass of water with a wedge of lemon within seconds. The bartender leaned close. “How are things going, Cecelia?”

      “Great. Thanks, Ted.”

      Ted glanced at Emmett and then back to her. “Do you and the ladies have everything all set for tomorrow night?”

      “Definitely.”

      “Glad to hear it.” He moved on down the bar to serve the next customer.

      “A friend of yours?”

      She glanced at Emmett while she sipped her water, letting the cool liquid soothe her dry throat. He looked a little perturbed with the bartender’s familiarity. Was he jealous, or did he see a potential interference with his kidnapping plan? Her intuition couldn’t pin it down. Granted, she hadn’t tried dating since her husband died and she didn’t know if this was business or pleasure yet—only that part of her was seriously hoping for the latter.

      “My friends and I meet here almost every week,” she explained. “You work in DC. Surely this isn’t your first trip to Alexandria.”

      “No, it isn’t.”

      Well, that was less than enlightening. She tried a different tack. “Is there a particular area or way you’d like us to use your donation?”

      He smiled, slowly, and though it was hard to tell in this light she thought maybe he blushed a bit. “No. You’re free to use the money how you see fit.”

      “Okay.” She watched him carefully, searching out any clues to his intention with her. But watching him carefully meant taking in the details. He oozed confidence and he obviously worked out. He was trim without being skinny and if his forearms were any indication, his biceps and shoulders would be beautifully sculpted.

      He angled his body, effectively sheltering her from the crowded room and making this public encounter suddenly feel a lot more private.

      Her heart rate fluttered, but with awareness rather than a more appropriate concern. He was close enough she recognized the citrus and cedar notes of his cologne. Her husband had preferred—she cut off the thought. That was then. This moment, this evening, was all that mattered right now.

      Live your life.

      But something else about Emmett reminded her of her husband and her brother. She’d been around the type long enough she would have picked up on it even without Thomas’s warning this afternoon. Emmett gave the appearance of being focused on her, but he was surreptitiously inventorying their surroundings and the people coming and going around them.

      She’d caught her daughter doing the same thing more than once since Casey started working in ops. Situational awareness was a skill taught to field agents in the CIA as well as any other number of agencies. If she’d asked him, she knew he could give her an accurate description of everyone in the room and the best way out if any trouble cropped up.

      He was definitely one of her brother’s Specialists, and the last shred of hope she’d clung to that their meeting online had been a coincidence dwindled to zero. She needed a plan, needed to get to the bottom of his motives before she wound up used—or worse.

      The man might have a generous streak, but it didn’t require an active intuition to see there was more under the charming surface. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but maybe this isn’t the best night for dinner. Let’s talk more tomorrow at the gala.” She slid off the stool just as someone behind him shifted, and she found herself pressed tight against his warm, hard body.

      Speaking of situational awareness... She looked up at him, captivated by the cool gaze that only increased her body temperature.

      “Why don’t we go somewhere less crowded?”

      Yes! “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” She inched away from him, fighting the overwhelming urge to get closer. “As generous as you are, we’re scarcely more than strangers.”

      “I made a reservation for us at that steak house down the street.”

      The crowd shifted again, and this time he braced to keep from bumping into her. She was outrageously disappointed.

      “Come on.” He smiled and her heart jolted. “Let’s share an appetizer and then you can decide if dinner is an option.”

      She felt herself nodding an agreement before she could voice a reasonable excuse.

      He took her coat from her grasp and held it for her, straightening the collar and smoothing his hands over her shoulders. He retrieved his coat—a supple leather bomber-style jacket—from the hook just under the bar top.

      He gestured for her to go first, and when she checked the reflection, she saw his eyes weren’t on her, but the crowd around them. Something wasn’t quite right. Was he protecting her or preparing to snatch her away?

      Oh, she had to get her brother’s voice out of her head so she could find her own way through this situation. She pushed through the door to the street and turned to just ask him outright, but another of his smiles completely derailed her train of thought.

      “Is it always so crowded in there? It’s a wine bar.”

      His beleaguered expression earned her sympathy. Apparently the profile notation that said he didn’t like crowds was truthful. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she said, “It’s a popular wine bar. And every place is busier since we’re closing in on Christmas.” She gestured to indicate the white lights and holiday color dressing up the Old Town district of Alexandria.

      “Fair point,” he agreed, falling into step beside her.

      “Was the holiday spirit what moved you to make that donation?”

      His lips twitched and he ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging strand of white lights. “In part. I’m not typically one for the holiday spirit. Mostly it was you. After we met online, I poked around and found that video your organization posted. Who could resist?”

      Plenty of people in this economy, she’d discovered. “What is it that you do, Mr. Holt?”

      “You call me Emmett online,” he reminded her.

      His low voice sent a ripple of anticipation across