Be Mine at Christmas (12 page)

A
DELAIDE’S HANDS
and feet were freezing, despite the sun. And her coat wasn’t meant to be worn without a layer of clothing beneath. After three hours of struggling to get down the sheer cliff to where they thought they saw the shadow of the fuselage, she wished she’d braved putting on her wet bra and underwear. The rough wool fabric chafed, and since Maxim was leading the way, his hand often went up her coat to help her down. The descent was steep enough that she didn’t complain about him touching her bare thighs—she wanted to feel secure during the climb—but she knew what he had to be seeing whenever he glanced up.

“This is humiliating,” she grumbled.

“At least we’re alive,” he said.

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m not staring at
your
ass every time I look up.”

He laughed so freely it made him seem younger—and even handsomer, which was really something, since he was already one of the best-looking men she’d ever met. The media agreed; reporters often compared his charisma and appearance to John F. Kennedy, Jr.’s. Tall, dark and handsome, Maxim also came from money and was considered a real “catch.”

“You don’t have anything to say to that?” she asked
when it became apparent he wasn’t planning to continue the conversation.

He studied their options for farther descent. “I’m not stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means nothing I say is going to help. I can’t say I don’t mind seeing your bare ass or you’ll think I’m getting some sort of sexual gratification out of it. And I can’t say I do mind without making you even more self-conscious.”

“It leaves me with no dignity.”

He maneuvered onto a rock outcropping a few feet lower in elevation and turned back for her. “You had too much of that to begin with.” His hand went up her coat again, and he gripped her thigh while she secured her footing.

“How can anyone have too much dignity?” she asked once she’d reached the ledge he was on. It was so cold that their breath appeared in small, foggy puffs.

“You manage it quite well.”

She tilted up her chin. “You think I’m too stiff?”

“Not stiff, exactly. Unapproachable.”

“Some people would say that about you.”

“Those people don’t know me.”

“I could say the same.”

“That’s because no one knows you.”

“I have friends,” she argued.

He peered below. “Friends or acquaintances?”

“Friends! Franklin Salazar is my friend. I just received his endorsement, didn’t I?”

“Franklin isn’t your friend. I wouldn’t even call him an acquaintance. He just liked your, ah, assets. Tough for a guy to compete with that.”

“You’re saying I got his endorsement because of my
figure?
”

He climbed down farther. “I’d be more specific, but you might slap me.”

“He endorsed me because he knows I’ll fix the damage you’ve caused since taking over,” she snapped.

“You’re kidding, right? It’s taken me this long to clean up the mess your husband made.”

She’d been waiting for his help, but now she didn’t move. “Don’t you dare talk about Mark! He’s not here to defend himself.”

He sighed. “Fine. Mark was perfect. It’s just the rest of us bastards who have flaws.” He blew on his hands. “Are you coming or not?”

“No.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need my bra.” He had all their clothes rolled up and fastened with his tie, which he’d hung around his neck and tossed over his shoulder so he could carry them as a bundle. She wasn’t sure why he’d bothered bringing them along. She expected to be rescued before they had the chance to dry out. “Give me my panties, too,” she added as an afterthought.

Lines of impatience appeared on his forehead. “Will you quit worrying about things that aren’t important? I’m not so impressed with what you’ve got that I can’t forget about it, okay? Your clothes are soaked.”

The “I’m not so impressed with what you’ve got” stung more than it should have. “You didn’t have any complaints last night.”

“It was
dark
last night. It didn’t matter whether it was you or anyone else in that cave.”

Surprised by the harshness of his response, Adelaide blinked at him.

He seemed to soften but didn’t apologize. Dropping
to his knees, he found her bra and her lacy red Santa panties, her one concession to Christmas, and handed them to her.

She put them on while he retied the rest of their clothes. Her things were as wet as he’d said but she was already so cold and numb that she could barely tell the difference.

“Let’s go.” He stretched out an arm toward her, but she refused to lean on him any longer. He didn’t owe her anything. Just because they were stranded together didn’t mean they had to be friends.

Waving him away, she said, “Go ahead and see if you can find the plane. Or, better yet, find some help. I’ll get there when I can.”

He shook his head. “We should stay together.”

“The blizzard’s over. We’ll be fine. Just tell them where they can find me if you reach them first.”

“Adelaide—”

“Don’t call me that,” she said again. Every time he did she heard his voice from last night:
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Even though she’d known it wasn’t really Mark who’d whispered to her in the night, the use of her name had made those words personal. She’d believed they were spoken in sincerity. But that couldn’t be true. Maxim didn’t appreciate anything about her. The whole experience, every bit of it, had been staged for the benefit of survival.

“Well, regardless of what you prefer I call you, I’m not leaving you behind,” he said. “So you have two choices. You can let me help you so we can travel faster—which is critical since the weather can change within minutes. Or you can climb down on your own and I’ll wait a few yards ahead before continuing.”

“Maybe I’ll be the one waiting for you.” Without giving him a chance to stop her, she started down from her side of the ledge.

It didn’t turn out to be a good decision. All that white snow was blinding, and the canyon yawning so far beneath made her dizzy. But she felt for the safest toeholds she could find and kept moving. She didn’t need Maxim Donahue; she didn’t need anyone. Ever since her husband and parents had died, she’d learned how to soldier on alone.

“Adelaide, stop!” Maxim warned.

She ignored him, ignored everything except the tricky climb.

Staying where he was, he leaned over the ledge. “Look, if you want an apology, I’ll apologize.”

She wished he’d go down his own way and leave her the hell alone.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he called. “Will you hold still until I can reach you? You’re scaring the shit out of me!”

That wasn’t true, either. He only cared about himself. She would’ve told him so, except she was breathing too hard to speak. Clinging to the icy mountain took a lot of effort, more than she’d expected.

Spotting what appeared to be a fairly secure route, a path of bare rocks jutting out of the ice and snow, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. If she could get to the next plateau, she’d have a chance to rest and recover. Maybe she would prove that she was capable enough and Maxim would go on without her. Then she could sit and wait, or climb down at a more comfortable speed. Right now she felt the pressure to move quickly and efficiently, to show him she didn’t need his help. But her fingers and toes were numb, and the wind kept whipping her hair into her eyes.

“Not that one! There’s nowhere to go from there,” he shouted.

She recoiled and glanced up to see him staring down at her with an intensity that told her he didn’t think she’d make it.

“You’re right…you—you might want to go the other way.” She laughed as she clung to the mountain.

The wind howled through the canyon below. “You can do it,” he said. “Just be careful. Those boots are too big for you.”

She should’ve given them back. He was going to need them.

A dusting of snow fell on her as he moved. “One handhold at a time, okay?”

“I’ve got it,” she breathed but she doubted he could hear. She was talking to herself. She had to make a small leap and hope she could reach the ledge. It was the only way to progress; she couldn’t stay where she was. Her strength was running out.

Concentrate. Almost there…
With a deep breath, she jumped.

She might’ve made it. Her fingers touched the edge of the rock, but before she could grab hold and pull herself up, a gust of wind made her coat balloon like an umbrella, throwing her off balance just enough that she grasped nothing but air.

M
AXIM HAD NEVER FELT
more helpless in his life. As Adelaide fell, she didn’t scream. She didn’t thrash around. She just slipped down the mountain and out of sight.

God, she even died with dignity.

He clenched his fists, hoping and waiting for some
sign that he was wrong, that she was still alive. But he heard nothing except the words he’d spoken earlier, rattling clumsily in his head:
I’m not so impressed with what you’ve got that I can’t forget about it… It could’ve been anyone in that cave.

Turning his face toward the rocks, he squeezed his eyes shut. He’d caused this. She’d given her heart and soul last night because she’d been pretending he was Mark, and he’d thrown them right back in her teeth. But only because he couldn’t justify what he’d felt as easily as she could. He’d had to acknowledge who it was moaning in his ear, and the eagerness of his reaction made him wonder if he’d ever hated her as much as he wished.

Forcing back the terror that made him colder inside than out, he scrambled down to the place where she’d fallen.

It was a difficult climb, but once he’d traveled ten feet or so, he could see beyond the bank of snow that had hidden her from view. She hadn’t fallen all the way to the bottom; she was lying on an outcropping of rocks.

But she wasn’t moving. She looked small and pale, as white as the surrounding snow, especially with her dark coat torn open to reveal the smooth skin he’d touched last night.

He spotted red almost immediately. Was that her underwear? Or was it blood?

The thought that it might be blood created a hard lump in Maxim’s stomach, a lump that got heavier the closer he came to her. She was scratched up; he could see that easily enough. But…he watched for movement, any hint of life—and saw her hand twitch.

She might be badly hurt, but she wasn’t dead. The minute he reached her, she opened her pretty blue eyes and said, “Did you come…for your boots?”

A
DELAIDE FELT LIKE
an idiot for causing Maxim and herself so much additional trouble. She’d let sensitivity and pride urge her to act rash and now she had scraped knees and an abrasion on her stomach to show for her icy slide down the mountain. Worse than that, she’d hurt her leg and could only limp, which meant she had to rely on him even more.

He didn’t complain. He didn’t say much of anything. He was too determined to get them to where they were going. Every hundred yards or so, he’d leave her in a safe spot, scout out what he planned to do next, then come back for her. She argued with him several times, insisting he take his boots and go. He could move so much faster without her and send the rescuers back, she told him. But he refused.

She was glad he hadn’t relented when they finally found the plane. Although the fire and the crash had done significant damage, it wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed it would be. The tail had been sheared off, leaving a jagged hole that exposed part of the interior, the nose was smashed and the charred walls and upholstery smelled terrible.

But there was some good news. They could climb inside to avoid the worst of the wind. They had the
comfort of knowing that if there was a working emergency beacon, they were now much closer to it. And they could take Mr. Cox home with them and make sure he received a proper burial.

Not that Adelaide wanted to spend much time in close proximity to his remains. Maxim must’ve felt the same because he pulled the frozen corpse out and moved it some distance away.

The absence of that morbid reminder of what had almost happened to them—what could still happen—filled Adelaide with relief. Until she saw Maxim return wearing the pilot’s snow boots and carrying his parka.

“Take off that wet coat and put this one on instead,” he said, tossing it to her.

She slid over so it wouldn’t brush against her as it landed, drawing a frown from him.

“We have to be practical or we won’t make it.” The gruffness of his voice told her he wasn’t any happier about appropriating Cox’s clothes for his own use. She couldn’t fault him for doing it, but neither could she follow his suggestion. The idea of borrowing from the dead made her ill.

“He’d want you to have it,” Maxim said.

“Why would he?” she asked. “He didn’t even know me.”

“As a pilot, he was responsible for your safety. And it’s not as if he’ll miss it.”

She shook her head. She knew she was being impractical, but she couldn’t help it. Her hand recoiled every time she tried to reach out. “No.”

He studied her but didn’t insist. A moment later, he started rummaging around, gathering up items that might prove useful.

Because the plane had landed upside down, Adelaide sat on one of the overhead compartments and removed Maxim’s rubber boots so she could warm her toes. Her leg throbbed from her fall and her stomach growled with hunger, but if anything else hurt, she couldn’t feel it. She was too cold.

“We’re in luck,” he said. “There’s a lot of stuff here that didn’t burn.”

She thought they could use a little
more
luck, like a helicopter hovering overhead, but there was nothing to gain by being negative. So she kept her mouth shut.

Maxim made a few other comments as he searched the various compartments that would still open; Adelaide sat there quietly.

Finally, he stood as tall as he could in the cramped hull and waited until he had her full attention. “What’re you thinking about?”

She eyed the parka.
Mr. Cox lying in the snow without his coat.
“I’m thinking this is some Christmas.”

“How were you planning to spend the holidays?”

Adelaide hadn’t decided. Since Mark’s death she generally volunteered at a homeless shelter on Christmas morning, to remind herself that she should be grateful for what she had. Then she went to her former in-laws’ for dinner. But visiting the Fairfaxes wasn’t the same without Mark. His older brother had remarried and had an obnoxious stepson who loved to bait her on political issues. Mark’s mother’s health was deteriorating, so she was getting cranky and inflexible and spent most of the dinner berating her stepgrandson. And Mark’s father remained as uncommunicative as ever. These days, Adelaide felt like a stranger when she went there. Until she got stranded and couldn’t see anybody even if she wanted to,
she’d actually been thinking she might work as if it were any other day. She’d told herself she’d get more done without all the interruptions. “With Mark’s family, I guess.”

“You’re still close?”

“It’s only been two and a half years.”
Only?
Those two and a half years had seemed like an eternity. But that response saved her from having to answer more directly. They’d never been close; they were simply all she had. “What about you?” she asked.

“My kids are expecting me to be home.”

“Do you have dinner at your place?”

“Yeah.” He surprised her with a disarming smile. “I’m hoping I’ve got a few more years before either of them marry and Christmas becomes a negotiation.”

Adelaide could picture the domesticity of the scene—the roaring fire, the eggnog served in wineglasses, the laughter over dinner—and had to suppress a twinge of jealousy. The Donahues no longer had Chloe, which was heartbreaking. But they still had one another. “Who does the cooking?”

“I’ve hired someone to help.”

“A woman?”

He glanced at her. “Yeah, a woman. Does it matter?”

She wasn’t sure why it seemed important to clarify that. “I’ve just…had trouble finding the right person to help me with the same kind of thing,” she said, but she didn’t really need anyone to cook or clean. She wasn’t home long enough to get her house dirtier than what the maid service could manage each Saturday. The dry cleaner handled most of the laundry. And it didn’t make sense to hire a cook for one person who was gone most of the time and had a microwave available when she
wasn’t. She’d just thought it would be nice to have someone waiting for her at the end of the day.

She’d once interviewed a few applicants, but it seemed far too pathetic to pay for a warm smile, a “welcome home” and a TV companion. So she usually stayed at her office until she was too tired to do anything except listen to the news before bed.

“A friend recommended her to me,” he explained.

“She doesn’t mind working on Christmas?”

“Look what I found!” He held up a first-aid kit.

“That’s great,” she said, but she didn’t see how a few bandages would make much difference to them. Either they’d be rescued before they froze to death—or they wouldn’t.

He rooted around some more while she continued to ponder the woman who cooked his Christmas dinner.

“So…does she?” she asked when the conversation lapsed.

He was on his stomach, riffling through a compartment that was so smashed he couldn’t get much out. “Does she what?”

“Mind working on Christmas Day.”

“I guess not. She doesn’t have to. It’s her choice.”

“Doesn’t she have family of her own?”

“She’s never been married.”

Adelaide’s feet were beginning to tingle and burn. They hurt—but she hoped the return of sensation was a good sign. “Does she eat with you, too?”

“Yeah. Then we exchange gifts and she goes to visit some distant relatives.”

Adelaide drew her knees to her chest. There was something about this cook woman that bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. “So you get her a gift?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?” He groaned as he strained to pull out a blanket.

“How old is she?”

“Maybe if I had a hatchet…”

“How old is she?” Adelaide repeated.

“At least twenty-five.”

“So she’s not matronly Alice from
The Brady Bunch
.”

He laughed. “Definitely not.”

Definitely
not? “What’d you get her this year?”

“I’m not sure. I think my daughter picked out a nice purse.”

“Nice” meant expensive, at least in Maxim Donahue’s vocabulary. Adelaide had never seen him wear anything that wasn’t the best money could buy. She wondered what this young housekeeper would think of receiving a Gucci or Dolce bag. “Sounds like she does a fine job.”

He didn’t answer. He’d found a box of matches and was trying to light one. “Damn, they’re ruined.”

No fire. No heat. No help.

Adelaide pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and brought the conversation back to Christmas dinner. “What time do you usually eat?”

“Midafternoon. You?”

She ignored the question. “That means she stays with you most of the day.”

He straightened as much as possible in the upside-down aisle of the shattered plane. “Why are you so interested in my housekeeper?”

Adelaide pulled her coat tighter. “It just seems…like an odd situation.”

“It’s not odd. She cooks and I pay her.”

“And she spends most of her Christmas with you, even though she’s only twenty-five!”

He angled his head to look at her through the crack between two suspended seats. “Okay, now I see where you’re going. But don’t get too excited, Candidate Fairfax. You’ll have nothing to report to the press when we get back, because I’m not having an affair with the hired help.”

“I’m not digging for dirt!”

“Then why would you care if my housekeeper is young, attractive and unmarried?”

Adelaide forgot about her prickling feet. “You didn’t tell me she was attractive.”

“Well, she is.”

“
How
attractive?”

Victory lit his eyes. “My housekeeper, Rosa, is nearly three hundred pounds, at least fifty-five years old and stays with us because she’s supposed to. She’s live-in help. Except for the relatives I mentioned, the rest of her family remained in Chile when she immigrated—legally—thirty-five years ago.”

Adelaide rocked back. “You set me up! What a jerk!”

A wicked grin curved his lips. “You knew it was me last night and you enjoyed it, anyway, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grumbled.

“In the cave,” he said. “I’m saying there were moments you enjoyed our lovemaking even knowing I wasn’t Mark. You—”

“Stop it.” She scowled. “You’re deluded.”

He lowered his voice. “Am I?”

“Of course.” She met his eyes because she wanted him to believe her; she wanted to believe what she was saying, too. Crediting all that passion to fantasy made everything so much…simpler. But she was having too many
flashbacks. His hands cupping her face with palms too large to be Mark’s. His mouth on her breast, warming her just when she thought she’d never be warm again. The sounds he’d made, the words he’d whispered. It was all unique to him.

“Would it hurt so much to admit it?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“I knew it was
you,
” he added.

“But it could’ve been anyone, remember?”

An expression of chagrin wiped the subtly coaxing smile from his face. “Could’ve been, but wasn’t.”

“I thought we decided to forget about last night, pretend it never happened.”

“Some of us are better at pretending than others,” he muttered. He was trying to hang a blanket across the opening to keep out the snow and cold.

“Was there a lot of blood?” she asked as she watched him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Cox.”

The blanket he’d anchored on one end fell, forcing him to start over. “No.”

“What killed him?”

He sighed but shifted to the other side. “A head injury, I think. I didn’t want to look too closely.”

She could understand that. He was wearing the man’s boots. “Right.”

“We have a total of four blankets. Well, three,” he corrected, “if you don’t include this one.”

“That’s better than none,” she said, but she couldn’t manage any enthusiasm. She had yet to hear the swoop of a helicopter, which meant the Civil Air Patrol or whoever was out there searching for them, probably
wouldn’t make it today. Temperatures were falling as it grew dark. And the wind was picking up.

Remembering the hopelessness they’d faced immediately following the crash, she shivered. In an hour or so they’d lose what little sunlight they had.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He checked his watch. “Almost four.”

They’d been in subzero weather for nearly twenty-four hours. “How’re your feet?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t feel them. What about yours?”

“They burn.” She chafed them, hoping to relieve the pain. “Did you ever hear about that little boy, back in the eighties, who survived in these mountains for five days? He did it alone. Both his parents died on impact.”

“I’d rather not remember that, thanks.”

“He made it out. They found him.”

“He lost his legs.”

“He’s now a successful businessman.”

“So you were being optimistic in bringing it up?”

No, she was considering how she’d deal with something so traumatic, if she could deal with it. “Here, let me help—”

He lifted a hand. “Stay where you are and keep covered.”

“But it’s snowing again.” Which would make the crash site that much harder to spot, even if rescuers could get a helicopter in the sky.

“Other than hunkering down in here, there’s nothing we can do—at least not until morning.” He finally managed to block most of the opening, which cut down on the wind. “We’ll be okay,” he said over his shoulder as he finished.

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.
Squeezing through the narrow passage, he crouched in front of her and raised her chin so she had to meet his eyes. “We’ll be okay…Adelaide.” The way he said her name made it a challenge. He wanted to see if she’d object to his use of it, but she didn’t. It still brought memories she’d rather forget, but he’d done too much for her; she had no right to complain about anything.

“Okay.”

A day’s beard growth—something she’d never seen on him before—covered his lower jaw, and his hair fell across his forehead in windblown tufts. She liked him this way. In a suit, he was too suave, too perfect, too…formidable. Or maybe it was just that she preferred a more rugged form of masculinity because she dealt with men in suits every day.