Man Under the Mistletoe Page 10

  He turned to look at her, stern and formidable—a stranger. Was this the man who had her trembling in his arms just a few hours ago?

  “You say you’re not encouraging him, but did you know Colin seems to feel that you need his help...?” He slammed his palm against the fluted pillar. “Dammit, his financial support!”

  Anger gave way to confusion as she stared at him. “That’s crazy!”

  With a small, cold laugh he scanned her face, not a trace of warmth in his eyes. “It gets crazier. He has some idea that if he helps you out financially you’ll care about him more.” At her gasp of disbelief he looked away, shaking his head. “The kid’s so naive, it scares me to death.”

  “I just don’t understand where he got this idea that I need his financial support.” Stunned and bewildered, she could only stare at him.

  Now he looked at her with weary cynicism. “He wants to save you from your—how did he put it?—oh, yes...” He glanced back at the small house, in a look that encompassed her whole modest life-style. “...your poverty.”

  “Oh, no,” she groaned.

  “Did you know he raised the money for the car by selling the Rolex his grandmother gave him? And for a fraction of its value, I might add.”

  “How could I know that?” This had to be some kind of horrible nightmare. Her head was beginning to throb. She put a cold, trembling hand to her brow. “Is there any way of getting it back?”

  “I’m sure there is, but I’m not going to bother. Obviously he isn’t responsible enough to care for his belongings. Besides, I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous as a seventeen-year-old with a fifty-thousand-dollar watch.”

  “You don’t think I plan on keeping the car, do you?”

  “No.”

  But the one terse word was not so much an acknowledgment of her good intentions, as a message that his will would prevail. He simply wouldn’t allow her to keep it. But that wasn’t what hurt so much. It was killing her that she actually had to defend herself.

  He looked away toward the car, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t get tough with him and this infatuation is allowed to continue unchecked, he’ll want to keep on buying things to make life easier for you, and God knows what he’ll buy next.”

  A wave of horror washed over her. “Wait a minute. What are you suggesting?” Her voice quivered and she had to will herself not to burst into tears.

  “All I’m saying is, stop encouraging Colin in this ridiculous pursuit.”

  “I’ve never encouraged Colin,” she said through clenched teeth. Through the pain, anger was beginning to boil in her veins. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re just friends.”

  “It’s not possible for you two to be friends.” He turned his head at the sound of footsteps as a couple approached from the direction of the boardwalk. “Perhaps we should go inside to discuss this after all.”

  “No. Because there’s nothing to discuss. Good night, Mr. Worth.”

  She turned away, yanked open the screen door and stepped into the house, but he was right behind her.

  “Just a minute.” He grabbed her arm, his grip strong and almost painful as he spun her around to face him in the small living room. “You can’t just walk away. We’re not through talking.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she’d be damned if she’d break down in front of him. “Oh, yes, we are.”

  She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he only took her other arm and pulled her even closer to his hard, unyielding body, so close that she could feel his heat burning into her cold flesh.

  “You’re taking this all wrong. I’m only doing this to protect my son.”

  “From me?”

  He was so close, she had to tilt her chin to look up into his face. His fingers dug into her arms, and she watched his eyes darken in the heat of emotion.

  “No, I’m the one who needs protection from you,” he said with a groan, and pulled her to him, his lips coming down on hers.

  She tried to push away, her hands trapped between them against his chest, but he only held her tighter, so that she could feel the length of his body burning into hers from breasts to hips. And then a hot wave of lethargy surged through her. She wanted that delicious pressure, needed him even closer.

  Molding herself to him, she could feel his erection against her belly. Her knees gave way and she sagged against him. But his arms prevented her from falling, holding her tightly against his body, his hands sliding down her back to cup her hips.

  He groaned breathlessly into her mouth. “Sabrina, I need you so much....”

  Her fingers uncurled to caress the contours of his body. She felt his muscles clench and release at her touch. His lips stilled on hers and he went taut, dragging in deep ragged breaths that stopped abruptly as her fingertips traced over his belt buckle. Then she reached down and ran her fingers over the rigid length.

  “Yes.” He let out his breath in a convulsive gasp, “Yes,” and pressed himself into her hand, his fingers kneading her buttocks, bringing her closer with small, deliberate, rhythmic movements.

  Suddenly his grip tightened. “I can’t stand this. I need to touch you.” And before she knew what happened he stepped back and pulled her down with him onto the couch, onto his lap.

  For a second she saw his eyes, a glittering blue staring down at her, hot, needful, and then his mouth took hers again, his hands feverishly pulling at her T-shirt. He was rigid beneath her and she squirmed in his lap, deliberately pressing her bottom against him, wanting to feel his hardness against her heat. He worked the shirt free and she felt cool air on her skin, felt his hands on her.

  She looked down to see his lean, masculine fingers cupping her own small, firm breasts, his hand dark against her pale skin, and just the sight was so erotic that she felt a hot gush of moisture between her thighs.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered, his attention riveted on the swell of her breast, on the tightly budded dark crest.

  He bent forward, his hungry mouth closed on her nipple and her head fell back with a gasp at the sudden onrush of sensation. She felt herself being carried away. What was she doing?

  “No, Michael,” she moaned, and tried to arch away from him. She couldn’t let this go any further. They’d both regret it.

  “Yes, Sabrina,” he murmured, laving her nipple with his tongue.

  She had to stop this—now.

  “So, I’m good enough for you for sex, but not good enough to be friends with your son.” She hardly recognized the frigid voice as her own. She quickly rolled off his lap, dragging down her shirt as she stepped away from him.

  His head fell back and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids. When he opened them again it was as if his face had been wiped clean of all expression, all hint of emotion.

  Standing as tall as her shaking limbs would allow, her voice sounded cold and hollow. “Good night, Michael.”

  He got to his feet and looked at her a moment longer. A nerve flickered at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes filled with self-disgust. “Good night.”

  He turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. She stood for a long time, just staring at the white-painted panels.

  Finally she slumped onto the couch and cradled her head on her folded arms. She wouldn’t be suffering like this if she hadn’t fallen in love with Michael.

  * * *

  FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS she avoided both father and son and threw herself into work. Which wasn’t difficult, because she’d been run off her feet organizing the back-to-school displays.

  It hadn’t been easy working around the ongoing construction. It was a nuisance for everyone, but Sabrina found it exciting to see her ideas taking solid form.

  The boring old uniform aisles were now being broken up into self-contained boutique areas, starting right up front with Cosmetics, which was already completed. The counters were now set together in hexagonal wheels, and you could actually sit down on
upholstered stools placed in front of mirrors with flattering lighting. Now the fluorescents were gone she could no longer jokingly refer to that area as the embalming center.

  On a golden September afternoon, she sat at her desk for what seemed like the first time in days. Along with the display work, most of her week had been spent out at the warehouse, checking on the floats under construction. Almost every evening was occupied keeping up with work at the store. By the time she fell into bed, she was exhausted, which was a good thing. It left her no time to think about Michael.

  He’d been away, first to Montreal, then Tokyo, then back to London again. He’d taken Anya with him and she saw it as just another demonstration of his thoughtfulness. He knew Anya and Perry had been keeping in touch, and it was almost as if he were giving them the opportunity to see each other. Obviously the fact that they were both employees made no difference to him in this case.

  But she should be ashamed for being so petty when something good was happening for Anya. And it couldn’t be easy maintaining a long-distance relationship. That one night with Perry had bloomed into something that made Anya blush every time his name was mentioned.

  At least something was working out for somebody. But no matter how much it hurt, this was good for her. She knew now that she’d been nurturing a secret hope that something, some wonderful thing would happen between them. She’d been jolted back to reality, not once, but twice. Maybe this time the message would stick. He didn’t trust her. Not with his son, and not with himself.

  A knock sounded at the door and she called out absently, “Come in.”

  “Are you busy right now, Sabrina? Can I see you for a minute?”

  She looked up from the fabric swatches in her hand to see Colin’s face poking around the frosted glass door.

  The few times she had run into him on the sales floor, his hurt withdrawal had been hard to take. There was little consolation in the thought that time healed all wounds. Michael had been right about the solution, but his methods left a lot to be desired.

  “I have a lot of work to do right now, Colin. I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat.”

  “This won’t take long. Please, can’t I just talk to you for a moment?”

  He was so hesitant. The spark, the Worth confidence, had vanished. When she took a close look at him she felt alarmed. He was so solemn, not the cheeky, mischievous kid she knew. He would never be that kid again, she realized with a pang. A wave of love and caring for this boy swept over her. Michael’s son.

  “Well, just for a moment, then.” She indicated the chair beside the desk.

  He ignored the invitation and walked over to the window with jerky, agitated movements, to stand looking silently down onto the street below.

  Sabrina swiveled her chair around and sat watching him. His fine-boned face looked drawn and there were dark smudges under his eyes—eyes so like his father’s.

  “I bet you’re glad school’s going to be starting next week,” she said gently.

  Colin turned to her wildly. “My father hates me, Sabrina.”

  She could only gasp in shock. “That’s not true!”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You don’t know what it’s like living with him.”

  There was nothing she could say. She could only watch helplessly as Colin frenetically paced the small office. Then he stopped and looked at her, and suddenly she saw a lost little boy and felt her heart turn over.

  “Yesterday I went out to Grandma’s grave. God, I miss her so much. I realize now how good she was to me, how kind, and I don’t think I ever told her how much I loved her.” He sank down into the chair on the other side of the desk, buried his face in his hands and began to sob. “I was such a stupid, selfish kid.”

  Swallowing hard, she sprang to her feet, went to him and put an arm around his heaving shoulders. “That’s not true. She was very proud of you. You made her happy.”

  Suddenly he flung his arms around her waist and buried his face against her. “You don’t know what it’s like in that house now. You don’t know how lonely it is. My father doesn’t care about me. All he cares about is this damn store.”

  Another lump formed in her throat and she stroked the hair off his forehead. “No, Colin. That’s not true. Your father loves you very much.”

  He shook his head. “I feel like I have nobody to care about what happens to me. Whether I live or die.”

  At his melodramatic declaration, a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. But she felt stricken with guilt. Even she had let him down. This boy needed a friend. No matter what Michael thought, how could she turn her back on him?

  “That’s not true. I care.”

  “So this is where you are, Colin.”

  At the low, harsh sound of his voice she jerked upright to see Michael standing in the doorway, his eyes burning with anger, and something else. Something much more dangerous.

  6

  “I BELIEVE YOU HAVE work to do.”

  Michael gave Colin a cool, dismissive look and Sabrina felt anger welling up inside. Perhaps Colin hadn’t been exaggerating about the climate at home.

  “It’s not fair to the people in your department for you to be wasting time.”

  At his father’s words the boy’s expression became sullen. It disturbed her to see his eyes filled with hatred as he rose to his feet.

  “Thanks for listening, Sabrina,” he said with shaky dignity.

  “Anytime, Colin.”

  As she spoke, she turned and shot Michael a defiant look. And yet, in spite of her anger, the sight of him caused a breathless ache in her heart. For the past three weeks, he’d never been out of her thoughts.

  Colin walked out and Sabrina tensed as Michael stepped into her office, closed the door behind him with a small click and leaned back against it. His face was inscrutable.

  The silence lengthened between them, until finally she put up a warning hand. “Before you say anything, I have something to say to you.” He raised an eyebrow as she forged ahead. “Colin is suffering from a temporary infatuation. He’ll get over it quicker if you don’t make such a big deal out of it. In the meantime, he needs a friend. He depends on me to be that friend, and I’m not going to turn my back on him.”

  For a moment he said nothing; then, when he spoke, his voice was low and even. “Has it ever occurred to you that he could just be playing on your sympathy?” His small, cynical smile chilled her blood.

  “What kind of a person are you? Your son was very upset, but you didn’t even ask what the problem was. No wonder he thinks that you don’t care about him.”

  “And what do you think?” Again his voice was low, but now it held an ominous note.

  “It hardly matters what I think. Can’t you see, he’s still grieving for his loss? It’s only been a matter of months since his grandmother died.”

  “I know exactly how long it’s been.”

  “Then you should be a little more sympathetic.”

  The color drained from his face. “Thank you for your advice. Anything else?”

  But she refused to be daunted by his cold sarcasm, even though her heart was breaking. “Now that you mention it, yes. I’m sure it’s also frightening for him facing the fact that his childhood is over. And being aware of all the responsibilities he’ll have to shoulder...”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I would never have figured that out on my own.”

  His contempt cut her to the bone. But through the pain, anger flared. “Maybe if you were more approachable, instead of being such a...a...robot he could come to you with his problems.”

  He was already pale, but now his face set into a rigid mask, his voice low and strained with leashed anger. “If that’s your opinion of me, I guess there’s nothing more to be said, is there?”

  She made sure her voice was as cold and clipped as his. “Except for one thing. Like I said before, Colin needs me. And I can’t, and won’t, turn my back on him.”

  Steadfastly, she held his
icy gaze, refusing to let him intimidate her into backing down.

  “So you’re going to go against my explicit wishes?” Still he preserved the expressionless mask that gave nothing away.

  Every muscle in her body tensed, striving to keep her emotions under strict control. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

  “Need I remind you that Colin is a minor? And I still make his decisions for him, and if it has to be, that includes his choice of friends.” His tone was almost conversational, but every line of his face was tightly etched with anger.

  “What kind of a person do you think I am, that I would abandon a friend in need?”

  He lunged away from the door, his impassivity suddenly gone and his eyes blazing. “For God’s sake! You’re ten years older than Colin.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “What do you think he’s looking for in a friendship like that?” His gaze traveled over her slowly before coming back to her eyes again. “Let me rephrase my question. What do you get out of it?”

  The inference infuriated her so much that the words slipped out before she could stop them. “You’re a bastard.”

  He stiffened. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Do I have to get something out of it?” All at once she couldn’t stand it anymore and the anger gave way to weary desolation. He was impervious and she was so terribly vulnerable.

  “Yes. In my experience everyone has their price.”

  “Don’t judge me by your standards.” She felt tears pricking at her eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. Provided I still have a job. Or does that depend on what you get out of me?”

  His eyes held hers for a moment that seemed like an eternity. Then he turned abruptly and walked out of the office.

  Sinking back against the desk, she covered her face with trembling hands, overwhelmed. What had she done?

  * * *

  SYBIL WORTH HAD once given a garden party for the employees, and Sabrina clearly remembered the grand old house. She gave the cabbie directions through the shady streets of Rosedale, past the mullioned windows and stone mansions of old-money Toronto.