Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE telephone rang as Eve reapplied her lipstick in the mirror that hung by her apartment door. Though it wasn’t her style to appear eager, she was wearing her coat and trying not to watch the clock.

“Eve, it’s Dawson. Sorry, but I’m running a little behind,” he said unnecessarily. She’d expected him to arrive twenty minutes earlier. Their dinner reservation was for six o’clock and that time was fast approaching.

“Everything … okay?” she inquired.

“Wondering if I’ve changed my mind?”

“I’d understand,” she said. And she would, given everything she now knew about his past.

While Eve wasn’t considering this a full-fledged date, neither would her conscience allow her to classify it as mere business. She found Dawson interesting, handsome and definitely sexy. Generally speaking, she’d made it a rule not to become personally involved with male clients. But since the Burke account was hers only temporarily courtesy of Carole, she felt safe making an exception.

“I’m not going to stand you up, Eve.” His tone was resolute. “Something came up at the last minute.”

“Okay. How about I meet you at Tulane then?” she suggested. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment and it would save him from having to backtrack, as the place was located between them.

He hesitated and Eve was reminded of the fact that he preferred to lead. But then he said, “All right. But give me another fifteen minutes before you leave.”

“Okay.”

“And, if I’m not there when you arrive, order an appetizer,” he added.

“Should I start dinner without you, too?” she asked dryly.

“No. I’ll be there.”

Dawson walked through the doors at Tulane just as the waiter brought the artichoke dip. He’d shed his overcoat, beneath which he wore a tailored charcoal suit, white shirt and muted print tie. He looked sophisticated, sexy and a tad arrogant as he scanned the tables. When he spotted her, he didn’t smile exactly, but his intense expression relaxed even as it brightened. Eve sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly between her teeth.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized again as he slipped onto the chair opposite hers.

Her heart rate back to normal, she offered an easy smile. “That’s okay.”

“I see you ordered an appetizer.”

“Yes, hope you like artichoke dip and toast squares,” she said.

“You won’t hear me complaining.”

“I also took a chance and had the waiter bring us some wine.” She nodded toward the glass that was in front of Dawson on the table.

He picked it up and took a sip. His brow beetled as his gaze connected with hers. “Pinot noir?”

“It’s what you were drinking the other night.”

“You certainly pay attention.”

Eve picked up her glass and shrugged. “I tend to remember details.”

Dawson studied her over the rim of his glass. He remembered details, too. When it came to Eve Hawley, he recalled far too many of them for his own peace of mind.

Details such as the golden flecks that could be teased from her otherwise brown eyes. The candlelight was accomplishing that. And the paleness of her skin that contrasted with a trio of beauty marks at the base of her throat.

She was wearing black tonight. The dress’s cut was simple, elegant, and though it sported three-quarter-length sleeves and a rather demure neckline, it was every bit as sexy as the siren-red number she’d had on the other evening. As for her hair, she’d left it down. It hung in a glossy dark cloud of curls around her shoulders. Dawson wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked. If it would smell …

“You’re staring at me and not saying anything,” Eve said, snapping him out of his stupor. Her full lips bowed when she added, “I’d wonder if I had a piece of artichoke stuck in my teeth, but I haven’t tried the dip yet.”

Ah, yes, Dawson thought, and then there was that—the woman’s surprisingly direct nature. It was another detail, another characteristic, that made her stand out in a crowd. His late wife had been much more reserved and …

He sipped his wine to wash away the memory before it could fully form. No, he wouldn’t think of Sheila tonight. He’d done that on his other dates, he realized, spent the time making comparisons, and finding his companions lacking. Both of them had been nice women, but it struck Dawson now how much they had been like his late wife, resembling Sheila in both looks and temperament. Had he unconsciously been seeking a substitute?

Eve was no stand-in. She and Sheila were polar opposites in everything from their personality to their physical characteristics. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever being attracted to a woman who was quite so outspoken, independent and vivacious. Making comparisons wouldn’t be fair to either woman. Besides, what purpose would they serve? Beyond making Dawson feel guilty.

He took another sip of his wine and swore he felt a couple shackles from the past fall away when he said, “I’m staring because you look lovely this evening.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Actually, I should thank you. I’m glad you asked me to accompany you to the theater tonight.”

Her brows rose at that. “Really?”

He set his wine aside. “Yes. I haven’t been to the theater in ages.”

Her expression turned incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me that your company has access to a pair of choice seats and you don’t bother to go?”

“I’ve been—”

“Busy,” she supplied for him, but her overly bright smile told Dawson exactly what she thought of his long-standing excuse.

“I have been busy,” he insisted. When his conscience delivered a sharp kick, he admitted, “All right, the truth is I don’t get out much these days.”

“No, the truth is you don’t make time to get out much these days,” she told him.

Yes, direct.

“They’re sort of the same thing.”

He thought she might argue, but she let it go and smiled instead. “Well, I suppose I should feel flattered then that you accepted my invitation.”

“You’re a hard woman to turn down, Eve.”

He meant it. He’d spent the past few days wondering why he’d agreed to go. Even amid his many doubts and regrets, though, he hadn’t considered canceling on her.

Her smile widened. “I like that answer.”

He chuckled. “I thought you might.”

The waiter came by to tell them about the evening’s dinner specials then. Eve gave the young man her undivided attention, nodding and making appreciative noises as he described the pressed duck.

“Ooh. It sounds wonderful, Danny,” she said, flashing a smile that was warm rather than flirtatious.

The woman had a way with people, Dawson thought. It was more than the fact that she treated them with respect. Eve made them feel singled out, special.

After they’d placed their orders and the waiter had gone, Dawson said, “You know, you’re very good at that.”

“At what?”

“At making people feel like they’re important,” he replied.

Her brows rose at the same time her chin dipped down. “That’s because people are important.”

He gave a dismissive wave with one hand. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. And I’m going to be very disappointed if you suddenly turn into a snob,” she informed him. Though she said it lightly, he didn’t doubt that she would be.

“I’m not a snob.” When she remained silent, he raised a hand palm up as if making a vow. “On my honor, I swear that I’m not. My mother wouldn’t allow it.”

Eve’s expression softened then. “As I’ve met your mother, not to mention the rest of your lovely family, I have no choice but to believe you.”

“Good. And for the record, I intended my observation to be a compliment. A lot of people wouldn’t bother to make eye contact with a waiter much less call him by his given name.”

“Oh, Danny and I go way back.”

“You know him?” Dawson asked, surprised.

She grinned. “We met when I ordered the appetizer.” Then she blew out an impatient breath. “Besides, his name was on a badge that was pinned to his shirt. How should I refer to him? ‘Hey, you?’”

“Sadly, I know some people who might not refer to him with even that much courtesy.”

She shook her head and frowned. “You need to start hanging around with a better class of friends.”

“I didn’t say they were my friends. I just said I knew such people. They think they’re better than everyone else simply because they were born into money.”

“Ah, yes.” She twirled her wineglass by its stem before taking a sip. Then she surprised him by saying, “I was in a relationship with one of those people for a couple of years, though it took me a while to figure it out.”

A couple of years? “It sounds like the two of you were pretty serious.”

“I thought so at the time.” She selected a piece of toast and scooped up some dip. Before popping it into her mouth, she said, “It turned out that while I was good enough to spend time with, neither he nor his parents felt I had the right pedigree to carry on the bloodlines or some such nonsense.”

“Sorry.” The evening of the ball, Dawson had sensed vulnerability. Despite her cavalier attitude now, it made an appearance again, and he thought he understood the reason for it.

“Drew did offer to keep seeing me provided that we met discreetly. He said that he had a lot of fun whenever we were together and he hated for that to end.”

I bet. “Good for you that you turned him down.”

“Well, he made it pretty easy. He’d already announced his engagement to a debutante that it turned out he’d been dating on and off since grad school. Hence the need for discretion.” She made a tsking sound and in a rueful voice asked, “Why is it that the other woman is always the last to know?”

“Sorry.” He half meant it when he said, “Does this Drew character live around here? Maybe I could go to his house and beat him up for you.”

“A tempting offer, but he’s back in Connecticut making the rounds with his bride.”

“Connecticut?” Dawson frowned. “I thought you said you were from Maine?”

“I said I was born in Maine,” she replied. “But I actually grew up in that state and a few others along the eastern seaboard. I ended up in Hartford after college.”

“It sounds like you moved around a lot.”

“I did.” She selected another piece of toast, and he got the feeling that no more information on her childhood would be forthcoming.

“So, I’d have to travel to Connecticut if I wanted to beat up your ex?”

“Nah. He’s not worth the price of airfare. Besides, I’m over it.”

Over it? Dawson thought as he helped himself to that appetizer. Perhaps Eve was over the man—and he chose not to examine too closely why he hoped that was the case—but she was not over the slight. No, that wound definitely had not healed yet.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it doesn’t sound like his marriage will last very long let alone be very happy,” Dawson told her.

“No. Probably not.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, pulling it away to reveal a devilish smile. “I know it’s incredibly small of me, but I hope she takes him to the cleaners when they divorce.”

“It would serve him right,” Dawson agreed. “In my opinion, a man who can’t be faithful to a woman deserves to lose something even more, um, personal than money.”

Head tilted to one side, Eve grinned at him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you … well, besides your penchant for bubble bath.”

“Charity,” he replied on a long-suffering sigh, but then he was grinning back.

He liked her, too. She not only made it easy to carry on a conversation, she made it easy to joke. He’d almost forgotten that he possessed a sense of humor. It resurfaced now as he asked, “Do you mean my wit and charm weren’t reasons enough?”

“Witty and charming were not exactly the two adjectives I would have used to describe you at our first meeting.” Her eyebrows bobbed. “Even if I did appreciate the view.”

Dawson grimaced. “Is it too late to apologize for that?”

“As far as I’m concerned it’s never too late to apologize for anything,” she replied.

“Very magnanimous of you. In that case, I’m sorry.” He decided to come clean. “The truth is I wasn’t in the best mood that day. I was hoping to get rid of you.”

“I see.” She picked up her wine and sipped. “And, what, you thought I’d run screaming in the opposite direction at the sight of a naked man?”

Unfortunately, the waiter picked that exact moment to arrive with their dinner salads. The young man cleared his throat and glanced from Dawson to Eve as he set them on the table.

“Would you care for freshly ground pepper on your salad, miss?” He held out the wooden mill.

“Please,” Eve replied, looking not the least bit embarrassed. Dawson, on the other hand, was pretty sure he’d turned the same color as the raspberry vinaigrette dressing that was drizzled over his plate of mixed baby greens.

“And you, sir?”

Dawson cleared his throat. “No. Thanks.”

“Can I get either of you anything else?” the young man inquired.

“No, Danny.” She glanced across the table at Dawson and winked. “I think we’re … covered.”

When they were alone again, Dawson said, “Just as a point of clarification, I was not naked when we met.”

“Oh, that’s right.” But Eve caused him to blush all over again when she added, “You were wearing a sheet. I guess I let my imagination fill in the parts it concealed.”

On a strangled laugh, Dawson replied, “I hope your imagination did me justice.”

“I don’t think you need to be concerned on that score.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

His response and what it implied had both of them sobering. By the time Danny returned with their entrees they had returned to far safer topics of conversation than Dawson’s anatomy.

As they left the restaurant an hour later, Eve got an idea.

“You know, my Tahoe is in the parking ramp. Why don’t you give your driver the rest of the night off? I can take us to the theater.” She sent him an angelic smile. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman and drop you at your home well before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Dawson glanced toward the curb where the limousine was waiting. His omnipresent driver had already hopped out to open the rear door for them.

She braced for his protest, but he agreed.

“All right. I guess that makes more sense than taking separate vehicles to the theater.”

Even more surprising than his agreement was the fact that Dawson didn’t insist on getting behind the wheel when they reached her Tahoe. Without a word, he got in on the passenger’s side … after opening the driver’s door for her, of course. If she saw his mother again, Eve would be sure to compliment Tallulah on her son’s fine manners.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a man who was willing to relinquish the driver’s seat, especially to a woman,” she joked after starting the vehicle.

She glanced over at Dawson in the Tahoe’s dim interior. Far from smiling, his face was drawn, his lips compressed. He was a man who preferred to be in control at all times, yet not only was he willing to let her drive, but it also dawned on Eve that he paid someone else to do the driving for him on a regular basis. Before, Eve had considered that a wealthy man’s preference. He could afford such a luxury and so he enjoyed it. It struck her now that, as the survivor of a harrowing crash, hiring a driver really was more of a necessity.

To fill the awkward silence, she said, “Well, just to put your mind at ease, I’ve never had so much as a traffic ticket.”

“Good to know,” came his clipped response.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him buckle his seat belt and then pull on the strap as if testing it. Afterward, he rested the palms of his hand on his thighs, hardly the picture of relaxation. In the rear of a limo it was probably easy to forget about oncoming traffic. That wasn’t the case with a front seat view.

“It’s nice to leave the driving to other people once in a while, isn’t it?” she said in an effort to make small talk.

Dawson responded with a tight-lipped, “Yes.”

“You probably get a lot done on the morning commute.”

“Yes.” Another laconic reply.

“I’d love to be able to while away my drive time reading or whatnot. I try to time it so I’m not on the roads at the height of rush hour. Traffic can be a killer, especially on the area highways.” As soon as the words were out she wanted to snatch them back. If Eve hadn’t needed to keep her foot on the gas pedal, she would have used it to kick herself. Talk about a poor choice of words.

Dawson, however, answered with an honest, “Yes. The highways can be a real killer.”

“My God, Dawson. I’m sorry. That came out badly.”

“No need to apologize.”

“You told me before that you don’t like to talk about the accident.” She refrained from adding that he probably should, rather than keeping all of that pain and self-blame bottled up inside. Her thoughts turned to her father, a perpetual man-child who had been emotionally stunted by his grief. It wasn’t healthy, Eve knew.

“We weren’t talking about the accident,” he said. “And we’re not.”

“Dawson—”

“We’re talking about driving. I prefer to leave that job to other people, which is why I pay a driver.”

She allowed him the out, though they both knew he was lying. “Ah. Right. Well, I live for the day I can not only afford to hire a driver but also pay someone to clean my toilets. It’s a nasty chore.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he replied blandly.

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve never scrubbed a commode?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Well, I take care of mine every Saturday morning if you ever feel the need to rack up another life experience,” she offered.

As she turned onto Curtis Street, she glanced over in time to see his lips loosen with the beginnings of a smile.

“Thanks, but no,” he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN they left the theater a few hours later, Eve was humming one of the musical’s more upbeat tunes.

“I take it you enjoyed the show,” Dawson said as they made their way to her Tahoe.

“I loved it.” She sighed. “Thank you again for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome. You know, that’s the third time I’ve seen Les Miz. The first two times were years ago when it was on Broadway.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head.

“You must love it.”

Actually, he hadn’t really cared for it in the past. Tonight, he had. Dawson credited Eve for that. She had a way of making him loosen up and let go. She’d laughed at the ribald antics of the Thénardiers and cried as Jean Valjean made his passionate plea to God to spare Marius’s life. At times, he’d found himself more interested in watching her than the stage.

“Do you own the soundtrack, too?” she asked, pulling him from his introspection.

“No.”

“You should have bought a copy tonight. I can lend you mine, if you’d like,” she offered.