Danielle Steel - Daddy

She laughed happily at him. “I'm glad you like it, sir.

And then, without warning, he leaned over and kissed her. But this time the kiss was more fervent than he had dared to let it be the night before. And when she pulled away at last, they were both more than a little breathless. “My, my, Oliver, that's quite a good morning.”

“It's in keeping with the quality of the breakfast.” He took two bites of the eggs, and then reached for her again, suddenly unable to stay away from her any longer. She was too good to be true, and he was afraid she'd disappear before his very eyes if he didn't grab her.

“Be a good boy, Oliver,” she scolded with a smile, “eat your breakfast.”

“I'm not sure what I want more,” he suddenly grinned like a kid in a toy shop at Christmas, “this breakfast, or you.” He looked up at her again with a broad smile. “For the moment, you're winning.”

“Behave yourself, or Santa won't bring you anything. Eat up.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Actually, he still thought Santa had put her in his stocking, and the studio head had been right, without makeup, with her hair pulled back, fresh-faced and clean, she looked absolutely gorgeous in the morning.

And after they were through, she disappeared, and came back with a little blue velvet box and set it down next to him, She had remembered it after church late the night before, and now she watched him open it with pleasure. It was a beautiful antique pocket watch, with a smooth, elegant face and roman numerals, and he stared at it in amazement.

“It was my grandfather's, Ollie … do you like it?”

“I love it! But you can't give me something like this!” He hardly knew her. What if he were a rotter or a cad, or she never saw him again. It didn't seem right, but as he tried to give it back to her, she refused to take it.

“I want you to have it. You're a very special man, and for me, this has been a very special Christmas. I told you, I always go home every year and this year I couldn't. And with all the people I know, there was no one I wanted to spend Christmas with here, except you … that says a lot … so that's for you … hang on to it … and remember this Christmas.”

He felt tears in his eyes as he looked up to thank her, and instead he pulled her closer to him, and he kissed her even more gently this time. She tasted of orange juice and pancakes and sausages, and smelled of lavender and violets, and he wanted to hold her for a lifetime.

“I'm crazy about you, Charlie,” he whispered. “Does that make any sense to you after three days? … excuse me, four now.” They had met on Thursday, and it was now Monday.

“No,” she whispered back, “and it scares me to death … but that's how I feel too, and I love it.”

“What are we going to do, acting like two crazy kids? I just met you, and I'm falling in love with you. And you're a famous television star, what the hell are you doing with me? What is this all about?”

“I don't know,” she looked pensive and almost sad, “but being on TV doesn't have anything to do with it. I know that much. I think we're just two people who met at the right time. We were just very lucky.”

“Is that what it is?” Or was it more than that? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Was it lust, or loneliness? Whatever it was, it was wonderful, and at least they could talk about it like their own private secret.

“Do you want to come home with me so I can change?” he asked, smiling.

She nodded happily. It was Christmas Day, and afterward she would take him to her friends', and after that she would cook dinner for him again. She wanted it never to end, never to change, never to stop, and so did Ollie. He just wanted to be with her, and he waited while she dressed and then drove her back to his house in Bel Air. Agnes was off for the weekend, and he showed her around, showed her the kids' rooms, showed her ten thousand photographs they had brought from New York, and sat like two children themselves, for hours, poring over all of them, while he explained what was what and who was where.

“They're beautiful, Oliver.”

“So are you,” he whispered hoarsely, and kissed her again. He wasn't sure how long he could restrain himself. He wanted her so much, and she was so wonderful, just sitting there next to him, on the couch. “Want to sit by the pool for a while?” It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and maybe he wouldn't leap on her if he took her outside. He wanted to hold back, to wait, until they were both sure it was right. And they lay side by side in the sun, talking again, for a long time. There seemed to be so much to say, so much to learn, so much to explain and understand about each other.

And that afternoon, he called Benjamin, and Charlotte listened to him with a tender smile, talking to his son. The baby was fine. Sandra was out. The house was great. And they hoped to see him soon, too, and no, nothing was wrong. She smiled again as he hung up. “You're crazy about that kid, aren't you?”

“Yes.” He smiled ruefully. “I just wish he'd get the hell out of that mess and get his ass out here so I could keep an eye on him. And get him to go back to school. He's wasting his life on that girl, and at his age it's a crime.”

“Give him a chance. He'll sort it all out for himself in time. We all do eventually.” And then, as an afterthought, “You don't suppose they'll get married, do you?”

“No, I don't.” He sighed and put an arm around her and then they went to visit her friends. They were directors, both of them, and they had done some interesting things, and they had some very nice friends. Some well-known people were there, but there were a lot of anonymous ones, too, and everyone was simple and direct, and no one seemed startled to see Charlotte with Oliver, and they made him feel at home, and he had a very good time. They stayed longer than they'd planned, and at nine o'clock they went back to Bel Air, and decided to go for a swim in his pool. They hadn't had anything to eat, but they were both still full from breakfast and lunch, and all the nibbles they'd had at her friends' house.

He lent her one of Mel's suits and went to change, and when he came back, she was already in the pool, swimming smooth laps, until at last she stopped at his end.

“You're very good. Is there anything you can't do?”

“Yeah. A lot.” She was smiling up at him. “I swim a lot for exercise, it keeps me in shape.” And it certainly did a good job. The body he saw when she emerged to dive off the diving board startled him. Her proportions were ideal, her limbs perfectly carved. She was an incredibly beautiful girl, wet or dry, morning or night, any time of day, anytime, anywhere, and he wanted her now, here, at his pool, and he knew he couldn't do that to her. They had just met, and in some ways she was an old-fashioned girl. She dived close to him then, and came up for air near where he was swimming. “Want to race?” She was playing with him and he smiled at her. He had been captain of the swimming team a hundred years before, and she was no match for him. He beat her hands down, and then pinned her to the side of the pool and kissed her. “You're not bad yourself.”

“Which skill were you referring to, my dear?” he teased.

“Both, as a matter of fact.” And then she dived after him, and swam underwater to the other side, like a little fish. But suddenly he couldn't stand it anymore, and he swam after her, circling her waist with his hands, and slowly they came up for air together, and he held her close, and she put her arms around him and kissed him again.

“I'm not sure I can behave myself, if you want to know the truth.” He wanted to be honest with her right from the first.

“I'm not sure I want you to, Ollie.” And then she kissed him hard, and he was overcome with desire, as he peeled her bathing suit slowly from her, and ran his hands across her exquisite flesh. They were breathing as one suddenly and moving as one, as she pushed his bathing suit down, too, and cradled him with her hands.