Jennifer Labrecque - Mistletoe Madness

Tatiana had intrigued him before. Now he was outright fascinated. “How did they leave?”

“How much Russian history do you know?”

“Very little.”

“Bottom line, there were lots and lots of have-nots. The majority of the country were peasants. My great-grandfather was a printer.”

“Ah. A family history of publishing,” Cole said.

“I never thought of it that way.” She picked back up with her story. “Dyda, as we called him, was smart and had access to books. He’d heard the Socialists and he knew what was coming. It had the makings of the French revolution when the blood of the aristocracy flowed like water through the streets of Paris. If you were a peasant, socialism was a step up. If you were an aristocrat, it was a death sentence. And for anyone in between, like him and his family, well, their fate could hinge on the whim of whomever was standing armed in front of them. He and my great-grandmother secretly made plans. One night they left. They and their five children packed one bag each-I think it was more along the lines of a sack, actually-and they walked away from everything else. They bribed their way out of the country. They arrived in Yurgash, which had the largest population of Russian immigrants, with twenty dollars in their pockets.”

“Twenty dollars and five kids. What’d they do?”

“They worked hard-it’s the Rumasky way. My dydushka delivered newspapers. My babushka baked. And the children shined shoes, picked up sticks, whatever they could do to earn a nickel. Within ten years, Dyda had his own printing operation again.”

“That’s an amazing story.” He’d enjoyed it all the more because she’d forgotten to be on guard with him. It was like sitting in on a session of Tatiana Unplugged.

“I’ve always thought so. I used to love to hear the stories about their journey to their new country. I’d sit in the kitchen while Grandma Rumasky and Babi Tatiana baked koliadki and babaromovaya and they’d tell about the old country. Dyda actually caught a glimpse of Rasputin, just in passing once. Pretty amazing. He was an everyday man who brushed shoulders with a figure pivotal in world history. Sort of a Forrest Gump moment.”

She stopped and looked a bit self-conscious. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Are you kidding? It’s incredibly interesting. I could sit and listen all night. Your family history is like a rich, wholesome broth. My family’s cornered the market on dysfunctional, but there’s no interesting history behind it like that. Not that I know of, anyway.” There’d been no family history passed down, just money and the apparent inability to stick with a life mate. He laughed. “Let me take a wild guess. I bet no one in your family’s ever gotten a divorce.”

She shook her head. “You’d lose that bet. Cousin Katrina’s husband Barney worked the night shift. She decided to surprise him one day at home by coming in early. Except she was the one surprised when she walked in and found Barney decked out in her underwear. Apparently Barney looked better in her merry widow than she did, so she dumped him.” She winked. “Cross-dressing is not that well-received in Yurgash.”

Cole laughed aloud at her droll delivery.

Her green eyes glittered with wicked merriment and she shoved a red curl behind one ear. “And Grandma Rumasky’s husbands keep dying on her, but that falls under good old-fashioned ‘till death do we part,’ not divorce.”

“Is her tongue as sharp as yours? Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Very funny.” She adopted a sanctimonious expression. “All of the women in my family are charming and sweet.”

Cole snorted. “You do an excellent job of hiding it.”

“Careful. All that flattery might go to my head,” she responded.

Cole realized he was having one of the best times he’d had in…well, he couldn’t quite remember when. Conversation with Tatiana was unpredictable and kept him slightly off-kilter. And an undercurrent hummed between them, as if she was as aware of him as he was of her. They were a dessert and after-dinner drink away from being through, and he wasn’t ready for the evening to end.

As if he’d picked up a mental cue, their waiter appeared and cleared their dinner plates. “Shall I bring over the dessert menu?”

“Give us a few minutes,” Cole said, preempting Tatiana. The waiter nodded and faded away, dirty plates in hand.

Tatiana arched an inquiring eyebrow.

“We should dance first,” Cole said.

Surprise widened her green eyes. “Why?”

“Because it’s part of the total experience, the atmosphere.” A sax-and-string quartet played in one corner. A small parquet floor accommodated couples. In his book, the restaurant got top marks.

“I suppose.” She didn’t look particularly convinced.

The music enhanced the dining experience. Some establishments screwed it up by playing too loud for conversation. Some chose the wrong music and it clashed with the ambience. This was right on the money.

“So shall we?” Two days ago, her reluctance would’ve delighted him.

He stood, unsure for the moment whether she’d leave him standing there alone.

“I promise not to bite,” he said.

“I’m not sure whether I’m disappointed or relieved.”

He drew her into his arms and a jolt of sexual awareness hit him. Who would’ve suspected she’d feel so soft, so right? That her curves would fit his angles so completely, as if she’d been custom-made for him?

Her hand was warm in his and he pulled her closer. Her scent drifted around him. In her heels, her head grazed the line of his jaw, bringing her temple tantalizingly close to his lips. They turned at the edge of the dance floor and her hip shifted against his for a brief incendiary moment. Tatiana filled his senses.

He bent his head, bringing his mouth to the tempting curve of her ear. Her hair teased against his cheek and his nose. “You’re a good dancer,” he murmured into her ear, her translucent skin just a fraction of an inch away from his lips. He gave way to an instinct as natural as breathing and nuzzled the tender lobe.

She tilted her head, and for a moment it struck him as an entreaty rather than a rejection, but then she turned, moving her ear and neck out of range but bringing her lips achingly closer to his, her cheek brushing against his jaw.

“Don’t.” Her breath feathered over his skin and desire flowed through his veins.

He’d never in his life been at a loss for a glib response. But right now, the comeback king couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. He was too mesmerized by her.

With a startling clarity, he suddenly realized exactly what he wanted for Christmas.

He inhaled her scent one more time and smiled.

Now all he had to do was convince her.

The following afternoon, Tatiana finished editing her notes and saved the file. She rubbed at her temple. She didn’t have a headache, but by all rights she should.

No doubt about it. This had morphed into the worst holiday season in her personal history. She’d done the unthinkable. The unconscionable. She’d had a brain lapse and slipped into some silly infatuation with-dear God, just shoot her now-Cole Mitchell.

She wasn’t even sure how or when it had happened. All she knew was one second he was talking about Corfu and looking at her with those slumberous blue eyes and all of a sudden, she wanted to swim naked with him in the Ionian Sea and then share those sun-laundered sheets.

Or maybe it had started when Parker Longrehn had slimed by their table? What the heck, it could’ve even been the very first time she met him and felt the impact of his silver-blue eyes and his smile tingling through her all the way from the top of her head to her toes, when she’d been happy to latch on to his dad landing him his job so she didn’t tumble head over heels and land at his feet.

She thought about the brief fling she’d had in Prague with a philosophy student she’d met at a small café. They’d both considered it an intense cultural exchange. It would be different with Cole, who wasn’t part of the culture but would be there to savor and share it from a perspective similar to her own.

But the true moment of her wits’ capitulation had been that dance. Had anything ever been more perfectly romantic? She must’ve lost her mind, because it now topped her most-romantic chart, bumping her adventure in Prague down to numero two.

Her entire body had felt more alive, more perfectly attuned to the world with his hand at her waist, with the play of his muscles beneath her left hand, the tease of his warm breath against her skin, that brief brush of his mouth against her ear that had set her on fire. She’d longed for him to keep going. Thank goodness she’d rallied her remaining sense before she’d done something totally stupid like kiss him on the dance floor.

She just needed to keep her distance. Get through the holidays, wrap up this slate of Web assignments. Then he’d go his merry way, she’d go hers and things would be back to normal. Holiday depression was quite common this time of year, and Tatiana was sure she’d simply developed some weird fixated form of the malaise. At least that explanation sat better with her than having developed a terrible case of lust for Tall, Dark and-at this juncture-Dangerous to her peace of mind.

“Ready?” Speak of the devil…Cole poked his dark head around her door.

They were doing an early seating tonight and they’d both had late work, so they were cabbing it together to the restaurant. She shook her head. What was the point in trying to deny the way her breath caught in her throat or the way her heart raced at the sound of his voice?

“I’m almost ready,” she said. “I just need to close this program and get my things.”

An hour and a half later Tatiana was proud of herself. So what that she had some ridiculous infatuation with Cole? Maybe she’d been terribly aware of his body heat in the cab next to hers, but she’d handled it. And dinner tonight was a far cry from last night’s romantic ambience, with its low lighting and sultry notes of the saxophone.