Carole Mortimer - A Dream Christmas

‘Okay. You want to give me a budget on how much to spend?’ Riley asked, holding his wrist with one hand.

James burst out laughing. ‘You and a budget? You’re kidding, right?’

Riley lifted her nose and his laugh deepened. ‘That’s art—there should be no price on art. I’ll have you know that I am very careful about spending other people’s money.’

He couldn’t argue with that. In the twenty-plus years he’d known her, Riley had never, not once, taken advantage of Morgan, his parents or his wealth. In fact, they frequently had to bully her into accompanying them to their houses in Aspen and the south of France, to flying with them on the corporate jet.

He had a whole bunch of issues around Riley, most of which he didn’t want to analyse too deeply, but her being a gold-digger wasn’t one of them. Since he no longer trusted the concept of love, he might not be able to trust her—or any woman, even himself—with his heart, but he did trust her with his cash.

Riley slapped her hands on her hips and tossed her hair. ‘I can either pay for stuff and you can refund me, except that I suspect that I don’t have as big a credit limit on my card as you do on yours.’

He shook his head. ‘That’s too much like hard work. Just take one of mine.’ He reached for his wallet, yanked out the first card and held it out to Riley. ‘The code is eight, nine, double four. I’ve got to go.’

‘You can’t give me this card!’ Riley protested, her apple half eaten and forgotten in her hand. ‘James, this is one of those fancy cards with no limit. I could buy a friggin’ country with this card!’

James grinned. ‘Since I have mines in most countries, I don’t need the country itself so don’t bother. But buy my sister a kick-ass wedding present with it.’

‘His and hers yachts? His and hers Indian Ocean islands? His and hers super cars?’ Riley called after him as he walked towards the door. ‘James, please give me an idea of how much I can spend—this is crazy.’

James tossed her a grin over his shoulder. ‘I do that every year with the windows … and you’ve never managed to stick to it yet. So I’m not going to waste my breath.’

As he shut the door behind him, James heard the thud of the apple hitting the door roughly where his head had been.

He chuckled quietly. Riley had always had one hell of an arm.

Riley Taylor: I’ve asked you three times over the past week to look at the mood boards so that I can get to work on your apartment.

James Moreau: Too busy and important. ;-)

Riley Taylor: *Snort* Too uninterested is more like it. I’m running out of time; the Christmas party is next week. Maybe I should just go ahead and do it without your input.

James Moreau: Great idea, do that. Going on a two-day trip to see an operation in Mexico. Don’t go mad with colour.

Riley read the series of instant messages she and James had exchanged a few days ago and shoved her mobile in the back pocket of her jeans. If James didn’t like what she’d done with his place then she had the proof that he’d said that she could go ahead and do it her way.

He was due home any minute and she bit her lip, wondering what he’d think of the changes she’d made. The white couches were gone; she’d replaced them with deep brown leather sofas that suited James’s long frame and no-fuss personality. She’d scattered rich autumn-coloured Persian rugs on the floor and she’d found a stunningly rendered painting of a herd of African cattle which she knew James would love and she’d placed it above the fireplace.

The throw cushions echoed the coppers and gold in the carpets and the painting; the effect was African-inspired, bold and masculine and changed the whole feel of the room.

She’d gone a bit nuts in his bedroom as well, Riley thought. She’d taken one of her favourite photographs of Bon Chance—a black-and-white image of the vines, the stately house and the towering mountain behind it—and supersized the image, framing it in solid black. His white wingback chair remained but now had an azure-blue throw over it and the solid black bedding was broken up with azure and white cushions.

She’d be mortified if he hated it. Any of it. Riley glanced at her watch and went to stand at the windows, looking out on the faded light. Waiting for him to arrive was worse than waiting to find out whether people liked her window displays or not.

Far, far worse. This was his home …

‘God, Riley.’

Riley spun around, her heart in her throat. She hadn’t heard him arrive and there he stood, his normally inscrutable face openly surprised.

But was that a good surprised or a bad surprised? She couldn’t tell.

Every muscle in her body tensed as he dropped his small suitcase and laptop bag to the floor, pushing back his suit jacket to place his hands on his hips. ‘Like it, hate it?’ she eventually asked when he just stood there, saying nothing.

‘You constantly surprise me,’ James said. ‘I love it.’

Riley hauled in a much needed breath as pleasure skittered through her system. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I’m not just saying this but it’s what I would’ve chosen for myself, if I knew what to look for. It’s … amazing.’

James’s smile, open and honest, blew away her last doubts and she held out her hand to him. ‘Glad you like it but maybe you should see the bedroom before you say anything more.’

Immediately his warm fingers tangled with hers as she led him down the passageway. ‘As long as you have put a mirror on the ceiling and a whip on the wall, I’ll love it.’

She snorted. ‘Dream on. I did, however, take your plasma off the wall.’

His mouth fell open in shock and disappointment and Riley rolled her eyes. ‘You are so easy …’ She opened the door and motioned him inside. ‘The TV is still on the wall so don’t be too scared. You’ll get used to the pink in no time at all.’

More shock. So, so easy.

Riley watched his face again and while there was pleasure in his expression—she could see that he liked it—she knew that James didn’t care enough about the new bedding and colour scheme for him to wax eloquent about it. For all his wealth, he was a pretty down-to-earth guy.

She knew from Morgan that James never ever brought women back to his apartment, so his bedroom was just a place to sleep, it didn’t need to look fantastic. But at least he tried. ‘It’s nice … not so white. I like the black, those pillow things will just end up on the floor … oh, honey.’

Yeah, that was the reaction she wanted, the reaction she knew she’d get when he saw the photograph. She wasn’t the greatest photographer but it was another form of art and she’d explored it and that photograph was one of the best she’d ever taken … ‘That is seriously. I’m not sure what to say.’

‘It’s an early Christmas present … it is nice, isn’t it?’

‘It’s freakin’ fantastic.’ James finally took his eyes off the photograph and looked at her and the expression in his eyes had the potential to stop her heart. He was looking at her in a way that every woman should be looked at, just once in her life. As if the sun and moon and stars rose with her and only her.

James lifted his hands to cradle her face and he lowered his head to brush his lips across hers. ‘Thank you … for doing this. Thank you for the thought you put into this. Thank you for my early Christmas present.’

‘Pleasure,’ Riley said against his lips. She expected him to step away and then his lips covered hers in a kiss that shot electricity to her toes. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside and she was lost. She was vaguely aware that his hands left her face so that his arms could haul her closer to him and then she was pressed up and against him, his arm easily holding her against his hard, muscular frame. This was heaven, she thought, and hell. Heaven because there was nothing better than being kissed by James, hell because she knew they had to stop before they went too far.