Just Curious (8 page)

“Only because you're—”

“What am I? Intelligent? A prince among men?”

“You're a reverse prince. When a woman kisses you, you turn into a frog.”

“I didn't with the first kiss. Want to try again?”

For a minute he looked down at her and she thought he
was going to kiss her again. But he didn't and she knew that her disappointment showed on her face.

Hours later she once again found herself alone in a room with Mac. When she returned from the bathroom wearing her chaste white nightgown, he was standing by the window, his back to her, looking out into the night.

“The bathroom is yours,” she said.

“I'm going out,” he said firmly.

To her horror, Karen said, “Why?” then put her hand to her mouth. What he did was none of her business. Stiffening her body, she forced a smile. “Of course.” She gave a great yawn. “See you in the morning.”

Mac grabbed her shoulders. “Karen, it's not what you think.”

“I have no right to think anything at all. You're free to do what you like.”

Quickly, he pulled her to him, and held her tightly. “If I stay in this room tonight, I'll make love to you. I know I will. I won't be able to stop myself.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he left her alone in the room.

“Right,” Karen said to the closed door. “And next week it would be business as usual, the little fling with your typist forgotten. Better not to do anything that could get you sued.”

She went to bed and only went to sleep after she had vented her frustration on the thick pillow separating the two halves of the bed.

Hours later she was sleeping so soundly she didn't hear him return, slip into bed beside her or feel him press a soft kiss on her forehead before he himself tried to sleep.

K
AREN AWOKE
C
HRISTMAS MORNING TO SCREAMS.
T
HINKING
the house was on fire, she flung back the covers and started to leave the bed—but Mac's strong hand stopped her.

“Kids,” he muttered, head buried in the pillow.

As the screaming increased, Karen pulled away from him, but his hand crept up her arm and pulled her down into the bed beside him. During the night the bolster pillow that separated them had slipped down (or been pushed) until it was nearer their knees.

Mac's hand crept upward into Karen's hair. He still had his face buried, still wasn't looking at her, but she could see his black glossy hair, could feel his warmth. The room was dim and the noise outside their room seemed very far away.

As he pulled her down to his level, as his face came next to hers and as his lips touched hers, he whispered, “Kids. Christmas. You know how they are.”

“I was an only child. I had breakfast before opening my presents.”

“Mmmmm,”
was all he said as he kissed her, kissed her warmly, softly.

With the touch of his lips it was as though time fell away: to be in bed with a warm, sleepy man as he pulled her into his arms felt so very familiar. And so very right. It was easy to slide down so her body was stretched alongside his, to slip her arms about his neck and return his kiss with all the enthusiasm she felt.

Suddenly, the door flew open and in rushed two kids holding toys aloft, brandishing them over the heads of the couple in bed. Bewildered, Karen pulled her face away from Mac's and looked up at the toys the children were waving in the air. The girl had a Barbie doll in an outrageous dress with a handful of accessories worthy of any call girl, while the boy held a box full of trains.

In spite of this confusion, Mac was still kissing her neck while Karen was half on top of him and trying to look at the children's new toys.

Before she could make a suitable comment, because Mac was kissing her throat, a third child came tearing in through the open door with an airplane in his hand, whereupon he crashed into the other two children and sent them flying. Everything—dolls, trains, children—landed on Mac's head.

Instantly the little girl started screaming that her doll was
hurt, while the two boys tumbled to the floor in a fistfight over who had pushed whom. Getting out of bed, Karen scrambled to find the missing pieces belonging to the toys, but it was several minutes before she could find everything and get the children settled.

“Wait,” she said to Mac as she picked toys out of the covers, “there seems to be a red high heel in your ear.”

“It's not the first time,” he muttered, annoyed that the children had interrupted them.

Giving him a quelling look, Karen rounded up the children and pushed them out the door.

Once they were alone again, Mac put his hands behind his head and watched her move about the room as she gathered her clothes. “Our kids will have better manners.”

Karen was looking for her belt. “I hope our kids are just as happy and excited as they are and that they—” With a red face, she broke off, glanced at him lying there, grinning at her, then she scurried into the bathroom to get dressed.

But Mac bounded out of the bed and caught her before she could close the door. “Come on, Only Child, you're going to miss all the fun.”

“I can't go downstairs in my nightgown and robe!”

“Everyone else will be,” he said, pulling her, grabbing a T-shirt as he passed a chair.

Mac was right. Downstairs under the Christmas tree was chaos, with an ocean of torn wrapping paper and children everywhere. Adults were sitting in the midst of everything, exchanging gifts and laughing—and ignoring the children as best they could.

“Ah, the lovebirds,” someone called. “You'd better get over here and see what Santa brought you.”

“By the looks of them, I think Santa's already delivered,” someone else called, making Karen drop Mac's hand, which she had been holding rather tightly.

It didn't take her long before she plunged into the middle of the paper and the people, and sat on the carpet beside a red wagon with a ribbon tied about its handle. She was pleased that no one had yet opened the gifts she and Mac had purchased and she could have the pleasure of seeing
their faces. However, she was surprised when people began heaping gifts into her lap. Each one had a tag telling who had given her the gift, but when she thanked them she saw a look of surprise on their faces, then they'd glance at Mac.

It didn't take her long to figure things out. He was sitting beside her, opening gifts, his face as innocent as a sleeping child's. “You were busy while I was at the hairdresser's, weren't you?” she asked softly, so just he heard. It was obvious that he had purchased all her gifts, had them wrapped, then labeled them as coming from his friends.

He didn't bother to deny it, but just smiled, his thick, black lashes half lowered. “Like your gifts?”

Her lap and some of the floor around her were covered with beautiful objects: a cashmere sweater, a music box, a pair of gold earrings, three pairs of slouchy socks, a silver picture frame.

“What did
I
give you?” Steve called. He and Catherine had postponed their honeymoon until the day after Christmas.

Karen laughed. “Let's see,” she said, picking up tags. “I think you gave me the string bikini.”

“The
what?”
Mac blurted then turned red when everyone burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” he said, smiling, but he put his arm possessively around Karen's shoulders.

A woman who was Steve's cousin looked at Karen thoughtfully. “You know, Karen, I have met all of Mac's fiancées, and I can tell him now that I've never liked any of them, but you, Karen, I like. You are the first one who has ever looked at Mac with love in her eyes.”

“Actually, I forgot my contact lenses,” Karen said, “and—” She was halted by boos that made her blush and look down at her lap. Mac's arm tightened about her shoulders.

“So when's the wedding?” someone asked.

Mac didn't hesitate. “As soon as I can persuade her. Look, she won't even wear my ring.”

“Maybe it's worn out from being slipped on and off the fingers of so many other women,” Steve called, and every-one laughed.

It was at that moment that Steve's mother, Rita, stepped in from the kitchen. “Stop it, all of you! You're embarrassing Karen. And I need help in the kitchen!”

To Karen's consternation, the room cleared instantly. Within thirty seconds, there wasn't a single male, young or old, in the huge room, only women, girls, and a mountain of gifts and torn paper. “Works every time,” Steve's mom said with a grin. “Now, come on, ladies, let's go gossip.”

Laughing, the women went upstairs to dress before settling into their various tasks. Alone in the bedroom she shared with Mac, Karen dumped her gifts onto the bed and looked at them. It hadn't taken much sleuthing to find out that everything she'd received as a gift since she'd arrived had been from Mac. She'd been curious to find out what the other women had received as bridesmaid's gifts and was told the gifts had been given out last week. Hadn't she received hers?

More questioning had revealed that pearl necklaces and earrings had
not
been the gifts given. “If you're referring to the pearls you had on last night,” one of the women said, “and if they were a gift from Mac, then you can bet your bank account that they are real.”

Karen blinked. “So I guess the bride didn't give out complete sets of white silk underwear.”

She'd said it more to herself than to the other women around her, but they heard and set up a howl of laughter that made Karen blush.

So now, alone in their room, she looked at what he'd heaped on her and knew she'd trade everything for an extra hour with Mac. Tomorrow they'd return to Denver and by the day after they'd be separated forever. Or at least as good as, she thought, remembering the office, with her desk about a million miles from his.

Turning, she noticed an envelope on the pillow, and when she moved the scarf she'd tossed onto the bed, she saw that it had “Merry Christmas, Karen” written on it.

Opening it, she saw that it was a short contract signed by Mac and witnessed by Steve. Quickly, she scanned it and saw that it gave her control of a business to be housed in
Lawson's Department Store. Mac would put up the capital and she'd supply the expertise. She was to have complete control to run the business in whatever way she saw fit and she was to repay him at five percent interest starting two years after the store opened.

“It's too much,” she said aloud. “I didn't want—”

She stopped when she saw that there was a letter with the contract.

 

My dearest Karen,

I know that your first instinct will be to throw this in my face, but I beg you to reconsider. I am a business-man and you have the knowledge and experience to run a business that I believe will show a profit. I am not giving you this contract because I think you are beautiful and funny and excellent company, and because I enjoy being with you. I did this because I was forced to—by my constantly pregnant sisters-in-law. I have been told that I may not return home if I sell leather instead of diapers in that old department store.

Please don't turn me down.

Your future partner,

McAllister J. Taggert

 

For a moment Karen's head reeled with the meaning of what he'd written. But it wasn't the business offer that made her dizzy, it was the “beautiful and funny and excellent company, and because I enjoy being with you” that was about to do her in.

“Stop it!” she commanded herself. “He's not for you. He has women by the truckload and … and …” She went into the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror. “And, you, you complete and total idiot, are in love with him.”

Turning away, she turned on the shower. “Business,” she told herself. “Keep it to business and nothing else.”

But it wasn't easy to do that. When she went downstairs, she was wearing jeans and a red cashmere sweater set that Mac had given her (under the label of “Rita,” Steve's mother) and the pearls that she couldn't help touching
often. She would, of course, have to return them to him. They were much too expensive a gift.

People were slowly beginning to move about, some trying to clear the living room, some going outside to play games with the men, and some, like Karen, going to the kitchen to help prepare the Christmas feast.

Somewhere during the last days she had heard it mentioned that Steve's mother was Mac's mother's best friend. Not that it was any of Karen's business, but didn't best friends tell each other everything? And hadn't about thirty-five people mentioned that Elaine was supposed to show up this afternoon?

Karen was curious to know if Rita knew anything about the truth behind the breakup of Elaine and Mac.

She spent hours in the kitchen, chopping and peeling, while hearing some outrageous stories about Steve's family and a few about Mac's. Outside the kitchen window she could see Mac, wearing tight cotton-knit pants and an armless sweatshirt, playing touch football. Several times, whenever he made a goal or lost a goal, he looked at her in the window and waved. Happily, Karen waved back. She hadn't had a family in so long, and never had she known all the noise and confusion of this one, with children running around the kitchen, people laughing and, in the living room, singing carols. It was all the noise that small families missed.

She nearly jumped when Rita spoke behind her. “You like all this, don't you? You're happy in the midst of wrapping paper and kids screaming and stuffing onions inside some poor murdered creature, aren't you?”

“Yes, very,” Karen answered honestly.

“Mac is a very good man.”

Karen didn't say anything. Maybe he was and maybe he wasn't. The only thing she knew for sure was that he wasn't hers. “Do you know the truth about Elaine?”