Mistletoe by Lyn Gardner Page A

the corner had been covered by hundreds of ornaments stuffed into every crevice of its artificial branches.
    “Overkill comes to mind,” Gwen whispered in Diana’s ear as she came up behind her.
    Turning around, Diana took the glass of wine from Gwen’s hand. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of murder, but then I remembered the housing sucks.”
    Grinning, Gwen took a sip of wine and looked over Diana’s shoulder at the throng of people milling about. Noticing one particular person, Gwen said, “You seemed to have captured someone’s attention.”
    “Oh, please don’t tell me it’s Ted Phelan,” Diana moaned, quickly tugging up the bodice of her dress.
    “Somehow I don’t think Phelan has ever filled out a tuxedo quite like that,” Gwen replied. “And now, I’m going to mingle, and you’re going to blush.
    Cheers.” Giving Diana a wink, Gwen quickly disappeared into the crowd.
    Swallowing hard, Diana took a deep breath and slowly turned around.
    Being nearly six feet in height had its advantages. A bulb in a ceiling fixture could be easily changed without the need of a ladder. Items on the top shelves in grocery stores could be retrieved without so much as a stretch, and seeing over the heads of average-height women to spot the one you’re looking for is effortless. Although miserable from her allergic reaction to the oppressive scent of dried flowers and herbs, when Jamie spotted Diana at the opposite end of the room, for a moment, her misery waned.
    As if on cue, the crowd slowly parted, and when Diana came into full view, the moisture in Jamie’s mouth disappeared, and promptly reappeared somewhere else.
    Gwen’s description, although lacking in detail, was spot-on, and as Diana watched Jamie walk across the room, she couldn’t help but admire the black tuxedo the woman was wearing. While most of the men at the party had also chosen to wear tuxedos, they lacked the panache of Jamie Nash. Choosing single or double-breasted suits with velvet collars and red or green cummerbunds, although appropriate for the occasion and the season, they could have very easily been members of a men’s choir waiting to perform. Jamie’s tux, like the person who wore it, was unique. With no lapels on the jacket, it was simple, yet elegant. The mandarin collar and the piping down the edges of the coat were of black silk, as was the wing-collared shirt she wore underneath. However, unlike the others in the room wearing tuxedos, Jamie had chosen not to wear a tie, and she was fairly close to not wearing a shirt. Her black blouse was unbuttoned all the way down to where it met the candy-apple red vest which completed her ensemble, and the swells of her breasts were more than apparent in the glittering lights of the room.
    Smiling as Jamie approached, Diana’s expression suddenly turned to one of confusion when Jamie came to an abrupt halt several feet away. About to take a step in her direction, Diana stopped when Jamie held up her hand as if to say don’t, and then watched in amusement as Jamie quickly squeezed her eyes shut, scrunched up her face, turned her head and sneezed.
    Shaking it off, Jamie offered Diana an apologetic grin, but as she was about to speak, she sneezed again, and then again. Unable to say a word for fear that she’d spray the crowd with spittle, Jamie turned and ran outside, silently cursing Lillian Willoughby every step of the way.
    Slightly amused by the alluring woman’s demise into normality, Diana trotted after her. Grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins from a nearby table, she opened the French doors and walked out into the cold night air. With even more Christmas decorations lighting up the back of the house, it took her only a second to see Jamie standing near the railing. However, before Diana could say anything, Jamie sneezed again and then began to mumble.
    “Fuck!” she growled as another sneeze rose from within and quickly escaped. Emptying the contents of her runny