“And where did you live when you were in Chicago?” she asked conversationally as she withdrew yet another bag and gasped in delight as she drew out first one white and clear glass-beaded snowflake, then another, slightly different in design and with silver beads. “Oh, these are beautiful, Alex. Look,” she murmured as she held up a snowflake and the flames from the fire made it flash and sparkle as it twirled on its string. “Ideal—given the weather and all.”
She turned, her smile fading when she saw the way he watched her.
“Where did you say you lived in Chicago?” she asked again, hiding heated cheeks by bending back over to look in the box.
“On Diversey. Near the lake.”
“So, do you sail or golf?” she asked wryly, referring to the fact that his location would have giving him access to one of the few city driving ranges as well as a popular harbor.
“I sail. I leave the golfing to Mitchell,” he replied.
She glanced up to see if mentioning his father’s name had irritated him. Angeline was growing to hate the bitterness between the two men. Maybe because you’ve stupidly thrown yourself into the middle of their conflict.
He leaned back on the couch, his arms spread along the back. No, she thought with a sigh of relief, Alex hardly looked irritated as he watched her finger another delicate snowflake.
“What about you?”
“Me?” she asked, temporarily confused by the warmth in his blue eyes, not to mention his virility, his nearness…his largeness.
“Oh, I love to sail, actually. My mother taught me how in Lake Superior. She learned to sail in the village where she grew
up in Greece. We just had a little Sunfish, nothing fancy. I suppose you had something much larger?”
He shrugged. “Sailing skills are the same, no matter the size of the boat. Access to Lake Michigan is actually one of the few things I miss about the city.”
“What else do you miss?” She bent to withdraw a smaller cardboard box resting in the larger one, watching him from the side of her vision as she fumbled to open the box.
“A Bears game at Soldier Field during a snowstorm, Daley Plaza at Christmastime.” He fingered his goatee thoughtfully. “My barber at Truefitt and Hill.”
She laughed before she could stop herself. Much to her relief, he didn’t look offended at her mirth over the fact that Alex Carradine missed what was the equivalent of a male day spa. She tried to picture him sitting in the most elegant barbershop in the city, getting a straight razor shave and his shoes shined while classical music played in the background.
Her smile widened when she realized she could picture it perfectly. Alex may have the fit, muscular body of a born athlete, but there was a definite male grace and elegance to his movements as well.
He grinned suddenly and it was like a light went on in the room. She paused and stared, her laughter fading.
The man could turn a female to warm mush with that smile.
“You’re shocked that a brute like me would value an English barber?”
She swallowed thickly and forced her gaze away from his mouth. “Alex, I don’t think you’re a brute,” she muttered, wondering if he’d noticed the unintentional huskiness of her voice. His words had brought to mind his lovemaking. It hadn’t been brutish at all, but it had been primal and powerful, and it had pushed at the limits of how she saw herself sexually. Despite his dominant, demanding manner, his touch had been so gentle at times, his kiss so hot, so cherishing…
She glanced back at him hesitantly. “You know…I love Daley Plaza at Christmastime too.
“Not too touristy for you?” he asked, that drop-dead smile still lingering on his lips.
She shook her head resolutely as she turned back to the box of ornaments. “I love it. I try to be there every year when they light up the big tree. I like buying all sorts of different yummy chocolates in the German Village they put up. Oh, look,” she breathed out in amazement as she held up a tiny reindeer carved in wood. It wasn’t a cutesy parody of a reindeer, but instead a fine piece of craftsmanship worked by someone with a skilled hand and an eye that knew how to observe nature.
She glanced up at the carvings on the mantel.
“You did this,” she whispered, stating a fact rather than asking. He said nothing, and neither did she as she withdrew the rest of the carved ornaments—a moose with its head dipped as it drank, a beaver on its haunches that had just become aware of an intruder and was about to spring, a twisting trout as it darted away from the hook that almost had snared it.
The last one she withdrew from the box was different than all the others—an angel with wings outspread, the expression on her beautiful face enigmatic and arresting.
“Oh, Alex. You could do this for a living,” she said in a hushed tone.
She was hesitant to turn around and look at him at that full moment…afraid of what she might do. He said nothing, but she’d never been so aware of another person in her life.
After a moment, she swallowed thickly and carefully placed the exquisite angel back into the box.