Debra Kastner - A Holiday Prayer

She was immediately struck by his impressive bearing and thick, broad shoulders. His black cutaway tuxedo was covered with a many-caped greatcoat, fastened at the neck amid snowy-white ruffles. His presence was intense and powerful, and Maddie could see that she wasn’t the only woman inexplicably drawn to his mask and the thick black hair curling down around his collar.

He appeared to be looking for someone, his strong, thin lips turned down at the corners in just the shadow of a frown.

His gaze passed where she stood, then moved back again, as if he were taking a second look. No doubt he was, since Ms. Short-shorts was still holding on to Maddie’s elbow. She was exactly the sort of woman to make a man do a double take.

Maddie wasn’t surprised when he strode toward them. The young woman dropped her tennis racket to her side and stood with one hand on her hips, greeting the Phantom with a brilliant smile.

Oddly enough, Maddie had the peculiar sensation that he was watching her, coming for her, as if he’d picked an old friend’s face from a crowd. And it sent shivers down her spine. But of course that was nonsense. He was coming for the blonde.

With unconscious grace, he unhooked the cape and swung it around, folding it across a chair. Maddie’s heart leapt to her throat, and she nearly dropped the water glass that she held in her hand. This man was definitely not an old friend.

She would have remembered such a compelling gaze, the way his dark eyes burned through the stark whiteness of the mask…and especially that confident swagger that caught the attention of every woman he passed.

Her head spun as the man grew nearer. She was vaguely aware of the sound of her own breath heavy in her ears, the pounding of her heart in her head.

Now, he was in front of her, looking straight at her. As if he knew her. But there was no way he could recognize her through her mask. And even if he could see her face, it was improbable that he’d know her. How could he? She wasn’t part of this crowd.

Perhaps that was the problem. Did she stick out like a weed among orchids? Maybe she looked like the grungy suburban housewife that she was, as out of place as a child at a grown-up party.

He grinned then, the smile starting at his lips and emanating from his obsidian-black eyes behind the mask. His smile encompassed both Maddie and the primping blonde at her side.

So that was it. He was being polite, figuring Maddie was Ms. Short-shorts’s friend. And he was probably wondering how to get rid of her.

Well, she’d make it easy for him. She didn’t know why Goldilocks had latched on to her in the first place, and she had no qualms about bowing out when she wasn’t wanted. She dislodged her elbow from the blonde’s grasp just as the Phantom held out his hand and gestured toward the dance floor.

Let’s move it, sweetie. He’s obviously asking you to dance, and he isn’t going to wait forever, Maddie thought uncharitably, wondering why the woman’s grip on her elbow had tightened. What was this woman’s problem? Not a tough decision, especially for one as used to society charity balls as this girl seemed to be.

She glanced to her side. The young woman stared at Maddie with a mixture of disbelief and pique, then glanced at the Phantom. She swung her astonished gaze to Maddie, and, with an unladylike snort, flounced away in a huff.

Either the woman was crazy, or a complete idiot. And the Phantom had just been jilted. She turned to the man and offered a regretful shrug and a tentative smile.

The dark-haired man combed his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. “Well?”

Maddie cocked her head. “Well?” she repeated.

“Dance with me.”

His voice was as low and rich as she’d imagined it would be. And she had definitely imagined the words.

Dance?

His eyes lit with amusement at her hesitation.

“Weren’t you asking Goldilocks to dance?” she blurted.

“Who?” The Phantom looked genuinely perplexed.

“You know.” Maddie tipped her head in the direction the blonde had disappeared. “The tennis player.”

The Phantom chuckled. “Not a chance. She’s a little young. And definitely not my type. I was asking you to dance.”

He was asking her to dance. And the orchestra was breaking into a slow ballad even as they spoke.

She nodded and took the hand he extended.

She felt a twinge of guilt when he swept her into his arms. It felt awkward. She hadn’t danced in ages. And for so many years it had only been Peter.

Peter’s arms. Peter’s whisper.

She felt the electric heat of the Phantom’s hand on her hip and her mind clicked into gear. A wave of panic surged over her.

Oh, Lord, what have I gotten into now?

She’d come here to support Children’s Hospital, not to dance. It was too much, too fast. To be dancing in another man’s arms, feeling another man’s heartbeat against her palm. Guilt turned the screw. Was she betraying Peter’s memory?

But Peter was gone. The Phantom was here, and his light embrace was not unpleasant. Besides, it was only one dance.

While Peter couldn’t dance to save his life, the Phantom was clearly a dancer, swaying easily in time to the music. Peter had been lean and lank, but her fingers now burned with the feel of the Phantom’s thick, rippling biceps. And he was shorter than Peter had been, though still a good head taller than Maddie. She would, she thought with an uncomfortable flutter of her stomach, fit right into the crook of the man’s shoulder.

As if he read her thoughts, he smiled at her.

At last, an imperfection. She was beginning to think that he was perfect in form and face—or at least what she could see of it. But his smile was crooked and little-boy adorable.

He chuckled low in his chest and his dark eyes sparkled with mirth. He lowered his head until his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, sending shivers of delight down her spine. “You’re staring at me.”

Maddie felt as if he’d jolted her with a white-hot bolt of electricity. With a whimper of dismay, she attempted to shrug out of his arms.

His hand on her hip tightened in response. “Don’t run,” he implored in a throaty whisper. “Please. I was only kidding.”

She grimaced and tittered nervously. “I apologize. It’s just that I…”

He lifted his hand from her hip and gently placed his forefinger over her lips. “No. You don’t have to explain. Just dance with me.”

She nodded, losing track of her thoughts in liquid black eyes reminiscent of some Native American ancestor and confirmed by his angular features and aquiline nose.

He shifted slightly, pulling her into his chest so that his hand now rested at the small of her back. It was a modest gesture, but enough for her to feel the rock-hard ripples of his shoulder under her cheek.

She inhaled deeply, then fought the sense of guilt assaulting her even as the faint spice of the Phantom’s aftershave made her nostrils tingle.

Oh God, she prayed as grief washed over her. How she missed Peter.

Deep inside her heart, the part of her that had agonized through every lonely night, mourning Peter’s death, facing the achingly empty king-size bed alone, struggling through empty days, needed to move closer into the embrace of her Phantom gentleman.

She was relieved that he wasn’t trying to make idle conversation. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to be held. If only for a moment. To feel the brush of warm breath tickle her ear. To revel in strong arms encircling her waist.

But how could she?

She pulled back, opening the space between them. She should turn around and walk away. This instant, while she still had the strength to do so.