her, though the lake breeze felt good
against her heated skin. "I suppose you do everything at the last
minute?"
"Everything." He drew her close, then let
loose her hand to loop an arm around her shoulders in a
chill-chasing gesture.
Disconcerted by the immediate response she
felt, she dredged up extra disapproval to lace with her teasing. "I
suspect you're one of the people they show on the TV news, lining
up to beat the midnight postmark for your tax return."
"I've met some very interesting people in
that line."
She couldn't repress a grin at his blatant
self-satisfaction, but it faltered as he turned his head and
contemplated her. His face was too close, his eyes too observant,
his mouth too . . . tempting. "Bet you'd never be in that line,
would you?" His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt as if her
heart and lungs were operating at double time. He blinked. "And I
suppose you have your Christmas shopping done by Labor Day?"
"Of course." She'd never been prouder of
producing two steady words.
He gave a histrionic shudder, and she
laughed. Everything had returned to normal. Almost.
"Some years," she confided, "I get really
crazy and wail until Halloween. But I'm always done, totally done,
by my parents' anniversary the first week of December. That way I
can enjoy the holiday. And you, 1 suppose, are probably out there
on Christmas Eve madly buying."
"Of course. The insane rush is half the fun
of Christmas, as long as you go about it with the right attitude.
You can't be buying to meet some quota, you have to be looking for
the exactly right gift."
They'd reached the water and turned to follow
the narrow path of sand that had been hard-packed by restless waves
and gentle tides.
"Why can't you look for the exactly right
gift before December 24th?"
He leaned toward her intently. "But that's
just it. What if you get what you think's the right gift on
December 14th and then find the perfect present on the 24th? Do you
return the gift you bought on the 14th or do you pass up the
perfect present?"
She shrugged, and his arm rose and fell with
the gesture. It made them seem connected somehow, that her movement
affected his. "It depends."
"On what?"
"On if you have the receipt. On how hard it
is to get back to the store where you got the l4th's present or if
that present might be something someone else would like or maybe
even something you need yourself."
He groaned. "All those 'ifs.' I save myself
all that. I take no chances. By the 24th, it is the perfect
present, like it or not."
They'd stopped in unspoken accord. They
stared out across the water. Bette was aware of how the
concentrated glow of lights from downtown illuminated the right
side of Paul's face, and lights strung along the city's Gold Coast
were nearly as strong on her left side. Between existed a shadowed
world that seemed to leave the city and its everyday life far
behind. This world between had only the light of the moon to reveal
it, a strange light that could make the ordinary extraordinary and
mask the dangerous.
She smiled slyly at him. "Of course you
realize, don't you, that by the time you go shopping on the 24th,
you're just looking at my leftovers. I've already snatched up all
the perfect presents out there."
His wounded expression drew a triumphant
chuckle from her that he joined with easy, warm laughter.
It was crazy. The whole thing. Walking on a
beach in her work clothes in the middle of October—even if the
weather seemed a flashback to August—with a man she'd known exactly
thirty hours, and whose drawbacks easily reached double digits. And
enjoying it. A lot.
Crazy.
The laughter and the warmth lingered. Paul
turned to her, and slight pressure from his arm shifted her
shoulders so she faced him. The grin still lifted his lips and
fizzed in his eyes. She watched that, so fascinated by the
amusement that always seemed near the surface with him that she was
hardly aware when he lowered his head and brought his mouth
against her heated skin. "I suppose you do everything at the last
minute?"
"Everything." He drew her close, then let
loose her hand to loop an arm around her shoulders in a
chill-chasing gesture.
Disconcerted by the immediate response she
felt, she dredged up extra disapproval to lace with her teasing. "I
suspect you're one of the people they show on the TV news, lining
up to beat the midnight postmark for your tax return."
"I've met some very interesting people in
that line."
She couldn't repress a grin at his blatant
self-satisfaction, but it faltered as he turned his head and
contemplated her. His face was too close, his eyes too observant,
his mouth too . . . tempting. "Bet you'd never be in that line,
would you?" His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt as if her
heart and lungs were operating at double time. He blinked. "And I
suppose you have your Christmas shopping done by Labor Day?"
"Of course." She'd never been prouder of
producing two steady words.
He gave a histrionic shudder, and she
laughed. Everything had returned to normal. Almost.
"Some years," she confided, "I get really
crazy and wail until Halloween. But I'm always done, totally done,
by my parents' anniversary the first week of December. That way I
can enjoy the holiday. And you, 1 suppose, are probably out there
on Christmas Eve madly buying."
"Of course. The insane rush is half the fun
of Christmas, as long as you go about it with the right attitude.
You can't be buying to meet some quota, you have to be looking for
the exactly right gift."
They'd reached the water and turned to follow
the narrow path of sand that had been hard-packed by restless waves
and gentle tides.
"Why can't you look for the exactly right
gift before December 24th?"
He leaned toward her intently. "But that's
just it. What if you get what you think's the right gift on
December 14th and then find the perfect present on the 24th? Do you
return the gift you bought on the 14th or do you pass up the
perfect present?"
She shrugged, and his arm rose and fell with
the gesture. It made them seem connected somehow, that her movement
affected his. "It depends."
"On what?"
"On if you have the receipt. On how hard it
is to get back to the store where you got the l4th's present or if
that present might be something someone else would like or maybe
even something you need yourself."
He groaned. "All those 'ifs.' I save myself
all that. I take no chances. By the 24th, it is the perfect
present, like it or not."
They'd stopped in unspoken accord. They
stared out across the water. Bette was aware of how the
concentrated glow of lights from downtown illuminated the right
side of Paul's face, and lights strung along the city's Gold Coast
were nearly as strong on her left side. Between existed a shadowed
world that seemed to leave the city and its everyday life far
behind. This world between had only the light of the moon to reveal
it, a strange light that could make the ordinary extraordinary and
mask the dangerous.
She smiled slyly at him. "Of course you
realize, don't you, that by the time you go shopping on the 24th,
you're just looking at my leftovers. I've already snatched up all
the perfect presents out there."
His wounded expression drew a triumphant
chuckle from her that he joined with easy, warm laughter.
It was crazy. The whole thing. Walking on a
beach in her work clothes in the middle of October—even if the
weather seemed a flashback to August—with a man she'd known exactly
thirty hours, and whose drawbacks easily reached double digits. And
enjoying it. A lot.
Crazy.
The laughter and the warmth lingered. Paul
turned to her, and slight pressure from his arm shifted her
shoulders so she faced him. The grin still lifted his lips and
fizzed in his eyes. She watched that, so fascinated by the
amusement that always seemed near the surface with him that she was
hardly aware when he lowered his head and brought his mouth
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