Chapter Fifteen
DOMINIC AWOKE ON Christmas morning as he was accustomed to waking on December the twenty-fifth—alone.
It was very early, pale sunlight filtering through the blinds.
He reached out his hand to the sofa beside him in the vain hope that Andie might still be there, only to find the leather on that side disappointingly cool to the touch.
He closed his eyes again and breathed in the scent of her that lingered in the room, on his skin.
Then was overtaken by an anguished rush of longing for her that made him double over with gut-wrenching pain.
He remembered her leaving his side, her quiet footsteps around the room, the rustling as she slid on her clothes.
Then her leaning towards him, murmuring that she had to go.
She had duties, obligations. He’d pulled her back close to him, tried to convince her with his hands, with his mouth why she should stay.
But she’d murmured her regret, kissed him with a quick fierce passion, told him he had jet lag to get over. Then she’d gone.
All he’d wanted to say to her still remained unsaid.
Of course she’d gone to the other people in her life who needed her and loved her.
The only commitment she’d made to him was based on the falsehoods he’d engendered and coerced her into.
She’d played her role to perfection. So well he was uncertain what might be fact and what might be fiction.
But surely making love to him with such passion and tenderness had not been play-acting?
He noticed the bourbon bottle on the desk, lid on, barely touched.
This would be the first Christmas he could remember that he hadn’t tried to obliterate.
The first Christmas that he woke to the knowledge that while Andie might not be here now, she soon would be.
And that his perfect, empty house would be filled with people.
People who had known hardship like he had and whom he was in the position to help by making their Christmas Day memorable.
Not for the first time, he thought of the possibility of opening a branch of the Underground Help Centre here in Sydney, where it was so obviously needed.
Profits from the joint venture with Walter could help fund it.
He had much to learn from Walter—he could see it was going to end up a friendship as well as a business partnership.
For the first Christmas in a long time he had something to look forward to—and it was all thanks to Andie.
He hauled himself off the sofa and stretched out the cricks in his back.
The sofa was not the best place to sleep—though it had proved perfectly fine for energetic lovemaking.
He paused, overwhelmed by memories of the night before.
Andie. Hunger for her threatened to overwhelm him again—and not just for her beautiful, generous body.
He prayed to whatever power that had brought her to him to let him keep her in his life.
He hoped she would forgive the way he’d behaved—understand why.
And know that it would never happen again.
He headed down the stairs and stood in the entrance hall. Not a trace of the tree remained, thank heaven. He breathed in. And none of that awful smell. Andie had been well meaning but misguided about the tree—now she understood.
The ballroom was all set up, with tables and chairs adorned in various combinations of red and white.
A large buffet table area stretched along the wall closest to the kitchen.
He’d approved the menu with Gemma and knew within hours it would be groaning with a lavish festive feast. The dishes had been chosen with the diverse backgrounds of the guests in mind—some were refugees experiencing their first Christmas in Australia.
He still couldn’t have tolerated a tree in the house but he had to admit to a stirring of interest in the celebrations—more interest than he’d had in Christmas since he’d been a child.
Andie was clever—children would love all this and adults should also respond to the nostalgia and hope it evoked.
Hadn’t she said Christmas was about evoking emotion?
Thanks to the tragedy on Christmas Eve all those years ago, thanks to the way his aunt had treated him in the years that followed, the emotions the season had evoked for him had been unhappy in the extreme.
Was there a chance now for him to forge new, happy memories with a kind, loving woman who seemed to understand his struggles?
Andie had said he could trust her, but after his display of anger over the Christmas tree last night would she let herself trust him?
There was a large Santa Claus figurine in the corner with rows of canvas, sunshine-themed goody bags stacked around it.
Of course it should have been a tree—but the Santa worked okay too as a compromise.
The sturdy bags could double as beach bags, the ever-practical Andie had pointed out to him.
She had thought of everything. There were gifts there for the volunteers too.
The house seemed to hum with a quiet anticipation and he could feel his spirits rise. Christmas Day with Andie in his house must surely be a step up on the ones he’d been forced to endure up until now.
He swung open the doors and headed to his gym for a workout.
An hour later Andie arrived with the chef and his crew. Dominic had long given her a pass code to get in and out of fortress Vaucluse.
She was wearing working gear of shorts, T-shirt and sneakers.
Later she would change into her beautiful new red lace dress and gorgeous shoes—strappy and red with tassels—in time to greet their guests.
She took her dress on its hanger and her bag into the downstairs bathroom.
As she did, she noticed the doors to the garden were open and someone was in the pool. She went out to investigate.
Of course it was Dominic, his powerful body spearing through the water. No wonder he had such well-developed muscles with vigorous swimming like this. She watched, mesmerised at his rhythmic strokes, the force of his arms and powerful kick propelling him with athletic grace.
She didn’t say anything but maybe her shadow cast on the water alerted him to her presence. Maybe he caught sight of her when he turned his head to breathe. He swam to the edge of the pool and effortlessly pulled himself out of the water, muscles rippling. He wasn’t even out of breath.
She almost swooned at the sight of him—could a man be more handsome? Memories of the ecstasy they had given each other the night before flashed through her, tightening her nipples and flooding her body with desire.
His wet hair was slick to his head, the morning sunlight refracted off droplets of water that clung to his powerfully developed shoulders and cut chest, his veins stood out on his biceps, pumped from exertion.
And then there were the classic six-pack, the long, strong legs.
He didn’t have a lot of body hair for such a dark man, but what there was seemed to flag his outrageous masculinity.
She wanted him more than ever. Not just for a night. For many nights. Maybe every night for the rest of her life. There was so much she wanted to say to him but, for all the connection and closeness and certainty she had felt last night, she didn’t know how to say it.
Her engagement ring glinted on her left hand.
The deal with Walter was done. Dominic’s Scrooge reputation was likely to be squashed after the party today.
How much longer would this ring stay on her finger?
What, if anything, would be her role in Dominic’s life?
She wanted to say something about last night, bring up the subject of the future, but she just couldn’t.
‘Happy Christmas,’ she said instead, forcing every bit of enthusiasm she could muster into her voice.
He grabbed a towel from the back of the chair and slung it around his shoulders, towelling off the excess water.
‘H... Happy Christmas to you too,’ he said, his voice rusty in the way of someone unused to uttering those particular words.
She wondered how long since he had actually wished anyone the Season’s greetings.
He looked down into her face and she realised by the expression in his eyes that he might be as uncertain as she was.
Hope flared in her heart. ‘Dominic, I—’
‘Andie, I—’
They both spoke at the same time. They laughed. Tried again.
‘About last night,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I wanted to—’
But she didn’t hear what he had to say, didn’t get a chance to answer because at that moment the chef called from the doors that opened from the ballroom that Gemma and Eliza were there and needed to be buzzed in.
Dominic groaned his frustration at the terminated conversation. Andie echoed his groan.
‘Later,’ she said as she turned away, knowing that it would be highly unlikely for them to get another private moment together for the next few hours.
Dominic found the amount of noise two hundred people could generate—especially when so many of them were children—quite astounding. He stood on the edge of the party, still at the meet-and-greet stage, with appetisers and drinks being passed around by waiters dressed as Christmas elves.
Santa Claus, otherwise known as Rob Cratchit, his Director of Marketing, sidled up next to him.
‘It’s going even better than I expected,’ he said through his fake white beard.
‘See that woman over there wiping tomato sauce off the little boy’s shirt?
She’s a journalist, volunteering for the day, and one of your most strident Scrooge critics.
She actually called you a multi-million-dollar miser.
But I think she’s already convinced that today is not some kind of cynical publicity stunt. ’