Page 8 of Greek’s Christmas Heir

It took Constance a moment to realize that the new swirl of sensation moving around inside of her had nothing to do with the baby she carried. But with him. With that mouth of his, and the way she could tell that it wassensual—a word she liked to read about but had never applied to her real life—despite the way he pressed his lips together as he stared back at her.

She jerked her gaze to the woman who stood next to him, who looked taut andwaiting,like some kind of swanky serpent. She was tall and thin, though not as tall as the man beside her, and thin in that very specific way that fashionable people were. Constance would have thought this clearly powerful woman was a perfect match for a man like that, but their family resemblance was obvious. That same jet-black hair, though hers was pulled up into something that looked both complicated and effortless on the top of her head. The same harsh features as him, making her not quite pretty, butarresting.

Constance might have been able to convince herself that this was someone’s prodigal son or daughter, but she would certainly know if someone hadtwosuch members of the family. Because Halburg was the sort of place you had tomeanto visit. People didn’t happen along here. It wasn’t on the way to anything. That was its charm, in Constance’s opinion. It was anintentionalkind of place. It was easier to leave than to find, so a person had to really, truly want to come here if they were going to stay here.

She had roots sunk deep in the soil of Halburg, like it or not.

And she found herself continuing to sneak looks at the two of them as they stood there in the back of the church, wondering not just what had brought them here, but why tonight? Why Christmas Eve? Particularly when it was a cold and blustery one, with snow in the forecast.

But the wise men were wrapping up their endless offerings, which in this year’s version stretched to a few musical numbers and a baton routine, and a bunch of adorable toddlers who tipped this way and that like silly little drunks. And soon enough, she was able to reach down into the manger and pull out the doll that lay there, hidden from view, so that finally, the words could be spoken.

“The child is born.”

The congregation burst into song. “Joy to the World” was belted out from every mouth.

And Constance was much more interested in having her own baby, all of a sudden. As soon as possible, for that matter. Because she was...uncomfortable. Just deeply uncomfortable, everywhere. As the song carried on around her, she was already planning what to do with her night. Go home, do some squats, bounce up and down on the inflatable ball she had for this purpose, and see if she could hasten the birth along.

But as everyone started milling around, she didn’t rush to get to her feet. She told herself it was because she was pregnant and needed to work up to it, but the truth was, she was being nosy. It was one reason she couldn’t really, truly take against any of her friends or neighbors when they gossiped about her. She knew that kind of talk was considered neighborly in a place like this. It was how people passed news along—the kind of news that mattered, because it affected everyone around them.

Her grandmother had always said that it was important to know what was happening across the planet, but not if it came at the expense of what was happening next door.

This was how Constance justified the fact that she was watching that man and the woman she was sure was the sister like a hawk, trying to see who they belonged to.

They were already making a stir, as all the rest of the congregants realized that there were strangers in the mix. She was not the only one watching the steady progress they made as they moved against the tide, down the central aisle of the church as if they were approaching the nativity scene itself.

But there was no reason for them to do that, Constance thought. By this point, she was only one sitting there. All the kids had raced off to make sure that their extended families had been paying close attention to their theatrical achievements.

So she held her breath when the pair of them came all the way up to the manger itself and stopped before her. She had the urge to stand. Or something even sillier, like curtsy—though she’d only seen curtsies on television, having never lived the sort of life that required a working knowledge of the form—and thinking something so foolish made her feel flushed and silly.

The woman looked her over with a critical eye, as if cataloging her flaws. Constance was sure there were many, not that a woman this close to giving birth could really be expected to care about such things. She would have said she hadn’t, before being caught in that basilisk’s glare.

But her attention was really caught by the man.

She could...feelhim.

It was as if the simple fact of his presence before her was causing a seismic effect.

He seemed to...ripple. Everywhere. All through her body, for one thing, but she was sure that in her peripheral vision, she could see matching ripples of reaction rolling out everywhere.

Shimmeringlike a whole Christmas season all his own.

He studied her, too, and while his gaze was no less critical than his sister’s, there was something else in it, too. Something almost...wondering. Or maybe it wascurious.

These were not the kind of reactions Constance Jones, nursery school teacher and honorary geriatric, normally inspired in men.

In fact, most men looked at her and clearly saw their grandmothers, frumpy and old-fashioned.

Not this one.

She felt her lips part of their own accord. Then she had no idea if she wanted to say something, or if she was gasping, or if she was simplyundoneby the undeniable force of him.

That was what it was.

There was aforceall around him, and she could feel it like a touch.

It was extraordinary.

Hewas extraordinary.

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