Page 137 of Tuxedos and Tinsel
He still couldn’t have tolerated a tree in the house but he had to admit to a stirring of interest in the celebrations—more interest than he’d had in Christmas since he’d been a child. Andie was clever—children would love all this and adults should also respond to the nostalgia and hope it evoked. Hadn’t she said Christmas was about evoking emotion?
Thanks to the tragedy on Christmas Eve all those years ago, thanks to the way his aunt had treated him in the years that followed, the emotions the season had evoked for him had been unhappy in the extreme. Was there a chance now for him to forge new, happy memories with a kind, loving woman who seemed to understand his struggles?
Andie had said he could trust her, but after his display of anger over the Christmas tree last night would she let herself trusthim?
There was a large Santa Claus figurine in the corner with rows of canvas, sunshine-themed goody bags stacked around it. Of course it should have been a tree—but the Santa worked okay too as a compromise.The sturdy bags could double as beach bags, the ever-practical Andie had pointed out to him. She had thought of everything. There were gifts there for the volunteers too.
The house seemed to hum with a quiet anticipation and he could feel his spirits rise. Christmas Day with Andie in his house must surely be a step up on the ones he’d been forced to endure up until now.
He swung open the doors and headed to his gym for a workout.
An hour later Andie arrived with the chef and his crew. Dominic had long given her a pass code to get in and out of fortress Vaucluse.
She was wearing working gear of shorts, T-shirt and sneakers. Later she would change into her beautiful new red lace dress and gorgeous shoes—strappy and red with tassels—in time to greet their guests. She took her dress on its hanger and her bag into the downstairs bathroom. As she did, she noticed the doors to the garden were open and someone was in the pool. She went out to investigate.
Of course it was Dominic, his powerful body spearing through the water. No wonder he had such well-developed muscles with vigorous swimming like this. She watched, mesmerised at his rhythmic strokes, the force of his arms and powerful kick propelling him with athletic grace.
She didn’t say anything but maybe her shadow cast on the water alerted him to her presence. Maybe he caught sight of her when he turned his head to breathe. He swam to the edge of the pool and effortlessly pulled himself out of the water, muscles rippling. He wasn’t even out of breath.
She almost swooned at the sight of him—could a man be more handsome? Memories of the ecstasy they had given each other the night before flashed through her, tightening her nipples and flooding her body with desire.
His wet hair was slick to his head, the morning sunlight refracted off droplets of water that clung to his powerfully developed shoulders and cut chest, his veins stood out on his biceps, pumped from exertion. And then there were the classic six-pack, the long, strong legs. He didn’t have a lot of body hair for such a dark man, but what there was seemed to flag his outrageous masculinity.
She wanted him more than ever. Not just for a night. For many nights. Maybe every night for the rest of her life. There was so much she wanted to say to him but, for all the connection and closeness andcertaintyshe had felt last night, she didn’t know how to say it.
Her engagement ring glinted on her left hand. The deal with Walter was done. Dominic’s Scrooge reputation was likely to be squashed after the party today. How much longer would this ring stay on her finger? What, if anything, would be her role in Dominic’s life? She wanted to say something about last night, bring up the subject of the future, but she just couldn’t. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said instead, forcing every bit of enthusiasm she could muster into her voice.
He grabbed a towel from the back of the chair and slung it around his shoulders, towelling off the excess water. ‘H... Happy Christmas to you too,’ he said, his voice rusty in the way of someone unused to uttering those particular words. She wondered how long since he had actually wished anyone the Season’s greetings.
He looked down into her face and she realised by the expression in his eyes that he might be as uncertain as she was.
Hope flared in her heart. ‘Dominic, I—’
‘Andie, I—’
They both spoke at the same time. They laughed. Tried again.
‘About last night,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I wanted to—’
But she didn’t hear what he had to say, didn’t get a chance to answer because at that moment the chef called from the doors that opened from the ballroom that Gemma and Eliza were there and needed to be buzzed in.
Dominic groaned his frustration at the terminated conversation. Andie echoed his groan.
‘Later,’ she said as she turned away, knowing that it would be highly unlikely for them to get another private moment together for the next few hours.
Dominic found the amount of noise two hundred people could generate—especially when so many of them were children—quite astounding. He stood on the edge of the party, still at the meet-and-greet stage, with appetisers and drinks being passed around by waiters dressed as Christmas elves.
Santa Claus, otherwise known as Rob Cratchit, his Director of Marketing, sidled up next to him. ‘It’s going even better than I expected,’ he said through his fake white beard. ‘See that woman over there wiping tomato sauce off the little boy’s shirt? She’s a journalist, volunteering for the day, and one of your most strident Scrooge critics. She actually called you a multi-million-dollar miser. But I think she’s already convinced that today is not some kind of cynical publicity stunt.’
‘Good,’ said Dominic. Strange that the original aim of this party—to curry favour with Walter Burton—seemed to have become lost. Now it was all about giving people who had it tough a heart-warming experience and a good meal. And enjoying it with Andie by his side.
‘Good on you for dressing up as Santa Claus,’ he said to Rob. Andie had been right—Rob made the perfect Santa and he had the outgoing personality to carry it off.
‘Actually,you’rethe Santa Claus. I talked to one nice lady, a single mum, who said her kids would not have got Christmas lunch or a Christmas present this year, unless a charity had helped out. She said this was so much better than charity. You should mingle—a lot of people want to thank you.’
