Jackie Braun - Christmas with Him

Dawson was, too. But in his case it had less to do with her tips on how to defeat a dragon and secure extra lives than the effect her laughter was having on him. Though she had a job to do, she obviously liked kids.

Eve glanced up and caught him staring. “What?” she mouthed.

He shook his head and mouthed back, “Nothing.”

How could he tell her that he hadn’t expected someone who looked as glamorous as she did to be such a natural with kids?

She’d probably be insulted, though he considered it a compliment. A lot of women he knew weren’t overly fond of kids. Even his late wife hadn’t been comfortable around children. Oh, she’d adored their daughter, and Dawson had been close to persuading Sheila to try for a second just before the accident. But she hadn’t been the hands-on sort, preferring to relinquish what she called “the minutia of child-rearing” to a nanny. That had been a source of friction in their marriage, since their opinions of what constituted minutia differed greatly.

Like Sheila, Dawson had grown up with every advantage and luxury at his disposal thanks to his parents’ wealth. But while his mother had been practical enough to delegate certain responsibilities such as cooking, cleaning and, at times, carpooling to the hired help, she’d been integrally involved in all aspects of her children’s lives.

That hadn’t changed even though they’d grown up and moved out. Across the table, he heard his sister and mother arguing over the current length of hemlines.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing a little more leg,” Lisa said.

“If you’re young and have long, slim legs like yours or Eve’s, no,” Tallulah agreed. In the dim light, he thought Eve flushed. “But women my age or who have put on a few too many pounds, shouldn’t show so much skin. It’s not attractive.”

“You could show a little more skin for my taste,” Clive said, sending his wife of forty years a bold wink.

Tallulah wagged a finger in his direction. “Stop flirting with me in front of the children.”

Laughter erupted. Eve joined in. Dawson did as well. Afterward, his chest ached. He’d missed this, he realized. The good-natured bickering, the teasing, the laughter.

He’d always been the most serious of the Burke bunch, a trait his father claimed had skipped a generation and come directly to Dawson from Clive Senior.

Grandfather had been an imposing man, downright rigid in some ways. Dawson’s father had called the older man Sir until the day he died. Perhaps that was why he insisted that his own children call him Dad and his grandkids call him the more informal Grandpa or Gramps. So, the comparison to Clive Senior wasn’t exactly a compliment. These days, Dawson supposed, it was more apt than ever.

He glanced around the table at the smiling faces of his family and then finally at Eve. She was smiling, too. Looking radiant, lovely and so … alive.

For the first time since the accident, Dawson’s regret was not that he hadn’t died with his wife and daughter, but that he’d forgotten how to live.

WHEN the meal was finished and the servers began clearing away the dishes, Tallulah once again took to the stage. This time, as she stood at the podium, she reminded her guests why they had come.

“Thanks to your past generosity, a lot of lives have been changed for the better. I know I can count on that generosity again tonight. The silent auction will close in another hour. If you aren’t lucky enough to take home one of the incredible items supplied by our various sponsors, you’re welcome to make a donation.

“In the meantime, please enjoy yourselves. We have a wonderful DJ, Dan Williams, on hand. So, let the dancing begin.”

After Tallulah exited the stage to applause, the music began to play. The DJ kicked off with a slow number in deference to the fact that people had just finished their meals. Dawson leaned back in his seat, biding his time. Another hour or so and he could leave, his duty to his family fulfilled as well as his duty to Eve. Surely by then she would have enough information to do her job.

She had turned sideways in her seat so that she could see the stage. Now that the music was playing, one of her feet had begun to tap. The polite thing to do would be to ask her to dance. His mother was giving him pointed looks in that regard. But he didn’t. Dancing required entirely too much physical contact for his comfort.

He should have known Eve wasn’t the sort of woman who would wait to be asked. Bold, he thought again, when her gaze locked with his and she smiled.

“Do you dance?”

He made a dismissive sound. “It’s been awhile.”

And it had. The last time he had been on a dance floor, he’d been here. With his wife. While their daughter slumbered safely at home under the watchful eye of a sitter. The realization caused him to frown.

“No need to look so distressed,” Eve assured him, misinterpreting his pained expression. “I hear it’s like riding a bike. You never forget how.”

“I’m not—”

But she was already laying her napkin aside and rising to her feet.

“Come on. It will be fun.”

Fun? He doubted that. But his family was watching, his mother nodding in approval, his sister’s eyes growing misty again.

“Very well.”

He and Eve were the first couple on the dance floor. The only couple, in fact. They might as well have had a spotlight shining down on them. The music was too loud to hear, but Dawson imagined the murmurs coming from the crowd as he took Eve in his arms.

In addition to feeling conspicuous, he felt wooden and awkward as the past and the present intertwined, making way for comparisons that he didn’t particularly like. Sheila had been petite, her build small and delicate. Eve was tall for a woman and her heels made them nearly the same height. He rested one palm just above her hip and grasped her hand, determined to keep a respectable distance between his body and her dangerous curves.

As soon as they began to move to the music, however, that space began to evaporate. Thighs mingled. Their hips bumped. Sheila had been pliant in Dawson’s arms, going in whatever direction he chose. Not Eve. It was clear almost immediately that he was not the one in control.

A tendril of her hair tickled his nose when he turned his head to whisper, “You’re leading.”

“Yes, I am.” She said it without a hint of apology. Then she asked sweetly, “Do you have a problem with taking instruction?”

“A problem? No. Not really. I simply prefer to give it.” He attempted to back away, but the scent of her perfume followed right along with the rest of her. Before he knew it, she was close enough to his body that he swore he could feel the vibration when she made a tsking sound.

“And here I thought you were original, Dawson. But that’s such a typical male response. It’s a good thing I’m wearing high heels or I’d be drowning in testosterone.”

“Funny.”

Eve executed a turn that Dawson wasn’t prepared for and he stepped on her toes. She grimaced.

“I should apologize for that, but I find myself wanting to say it serves you right. I’m a far better dancer when I’m allowed to take the lead,” he said meaningfully.

“Funny. I feel the same way.”

That had him frowning. “Do you mean to tell me you always lead?”

“For the most part. You could say it’s a habit.” Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug.

“Just what kind of men do you date that leading while dancing has become a habit for you?” he asked.

“The kind who are secure in their manhood,” she replied. She leaned back as she said it. Amusement glittered in her dark eyes. She knew she had him. There wasn’t much he could say in response to that without impugning himself.