Anthology - A Colton Family Christmas p.05

JULIET OF THE NIGHT

Carolyn Zane


Chapter 1

Juliet Cosgrove jumped half out of her shoes and emitted the itsy-bitsyest, teeny-weeniest—well, okay, though she was loath to admit it, a very unladylike—shriek, and then looked around sheepishly when she realized that the sharp retort came from a champagne bottle and not a gun. How ridiculous. Who would be—she shot a quick glance at the ceiling—packing heat at her sister, Samantha’s, wedding reception? Absurd. And here she was, shrieking like the starlet in a teen scream flick. Luckily, she was not the only jitterbug and everyone shared a good laugh at the expense of those who were easily startled.

A glance across the crowded ballroom at the Coltons’ Washington, D.C., estate told Juliet once again, that he was watching.

Mr…. Mystery.

She shivered. On and off, throughout the evening, she’d noticed him glancing in her direction, stony-faced, aloof, almost…as if he’d judged her on some nebulous criteria such as the style of her shoes and she’d come up somehow wanting.

Until she’d screamed.

Then, his granite jaw nearly cracked as his lips curled into a smirk, which, she supposed, was better than nothing, but still, he gave her the willies. Who was this grim reaper? And who’d invited him to Samantha and Jesse’s wedding?

With a little shudder, she averted her eyes and, as she stepped away from the throng at the champagne fountain, nearly bowled over Liza Colton Hathaway, her new cousin-in-law, and an old friend.

“Hey, keep it down over here,” Liza teased as she slid a sisterly arm around Juliet’s waist.

“Sorry. I’ve always been a screamer. It’s so embarrassing. Especially in church.”

“You should have been the opera singer in the family. Your C above high C is window-shattering caliber.”

“Thank you.” Juliet giggled and dipped forward to kiss Liza’s cheek. “Merry Christmas Eve. We’re family now!”

“I know. Isn’t that cool? You look gorgeous tonight. I’ve never seen a more lovely maid of honor.” They stood back and smiled the warm smile of old friendship. “Can you believe it? Your little sister and Jesse are married! Where did the year go?” Liza wondered aloud.

“I know. I don’t think I’ve seen you since…”

“My wedding?”

“That long?” Juliet frowned. “That’s terrible! Let’s have lunch this week and dish about all that girlie stuff we’ve neglected. By the way, speaking of shattering windows, I caught your PBS music special. You’re singing was brilliant, as usual.”

“Oh, pish. You think? Well, okay, I have to agree.” Liza laughed. “Except for that one camera angle, where you could see halfway down my throat.”

“Yes, but you have a very attractive uvula.”

They clutched each other and giggled like girls sharing a forbidden cigarette behind the woodshed. Again, Juliet glanced across the room and caught that man staring. Who the devil was he?

He was standing alone, which was a feat in itself, given the number of people crammed into the Georgetown mansion’s ballroom. Over by the massive fireplace he stood, warming his hands behind him, and surveying the masses the way a king would survey a kingdom.

Pompous poop.

Determined not to let him cast a pall on her enjoyment, Juliet focused on Liza’s warm conversation and enjoyed the virtual wonderland that was the Colton ballroom. A Christmas tree, twenty feet in height, had been transported from the great Northwest just for the occasion and was decorated with gold, burgundy and dark green ribbons and baubles. White lights twinkled in evergreen swags that were hung about the ceiling, stair banister and fireplace mantle and tied with huge velvet bows. A harpist plucked out Christmas carols, while the orchestra took a break and the champagne fountain in the middle of the floor gurgled richly.

A beautiful grandfather clock against one wall chimed its melodic tones, announcing the hour was now nine o’clock.

“So how is the world of publishing treating you?” Liza asked. “I saw two of your authors at the top of the bestseller list this week.”

“It’s going great. I’ve been telecommuting from here to New York and it’s working out really well. Power lunches on Fridays in the Big Apple and I fly out to the West Coast quarterly for some sunshine. I’m keeping busy.” She lifted and dropped a shoulder. “But enough about me. How’s married life treating you?”

Liza beamed. “I’ve never been so happy. You should try it.”

Juliet grimaced. “I don’t think so. I’m off men, right now. Only just now recovering from a very nasty breakup with Parker last year. Remember him? Tall, dark and jerk?”

“Oh, dear. What happened?”

“I was from Venus. He was from hell.”

“Ah.” Liza’s head bobbed in sympathy. “He run around?”

“Like a blasted triathlete. You name it, he pulled it. And I trusted him.” Juliet expelled the air from her lungs. “I miss the companionship, but not enough to start looking for my Romeo any time soon. Lucky for me, Samantha has taken the pressure off me with her own wedding.”

“They look so happy.”

“Don’t they?”

Again, Juliet’s gaze snagged that of the Popsicle by the fireplace. Though she hated to, she had to admit he was sort of handsome in a James Bond kind of way and, under that Armani suit, there lurked some serious muscles. But he needed a crash course at charm school. He seemed vaguely bored. Brooding. Sulking. Humorless. And at a wedding? Please.

“Hey, Liza. Don’t look over by the fire. No!” Juliet giggled and smacked her friend’s arm. “I said don’t look, you goose. Anyhow, in a minute, look ov—”

“Ian Rafferty.”

Lips screwed into a lopsided purse, Juliet arched a brow at Liza. “Now, how did you know what I was going to ask?”

“I noticed that he’s been glancing in this direction, and figured you’d noticed. Isn’t he a dreamboat? His eyes are like sapphires, huh? And look at those lips. Begging to be kissed.”

“Honestly, Liza, you’re married.”

“But not dead. I think he has a crush on you.”

“Oh, gag. Don’t be a loon.”

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you to him. He’s an old family friend.”

“No! Forget it. I’d rather neck with Dracula.” Something about him reminded her of Parker, and she had to fight the urge to march over and sock him in the guts.

“Okay, later then.”

Juliet sighed and looking askance she watched Bond, James Bond, make small talk with the odd person who dared to penetrate his wall, but it seemed clear that he’d rather be left alone. Fine with her.

When the clock chimed the half hour, Juliet decided to stay just a little longer, then wish her sister a happy honeymoon, kiss her parents and brother good-night and then go home and get some much-needed sleep.



“Ian! Thanks for coming, man.” Jesse Colton grasped Ian’s hand in a manly grip and clapped him on the back. “I’m so glad you could make it to my wedding.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. It was a beautiful ceremony. You’re a lucky man, Jesse.”

“Got that right.” A gentle grin graced his lips as Jesse sought out his bride across the room and shot her a wink that told her he was longing to get to the honeymoon. “So, when are you going to take the plunge?”

“Me?” Ian laughed. “Find me a woman who can tolerate my crazy hours and I’ll get back to you.” Against his will, his gaze strayed to Jesse’s new sister-in-law.

She had been the maid of honor, this much he knew, and since she was maid and not matron, that made her single. She was beautiful in that deep burgundy gown and to Ian’s way of thinking, overshadowed the bride. Disgusted with himself for this uncustomary lack of self-control, he had to battle his gaze away from the way the nearly backless dress hugged her hips. When she moved, the shimmering skirt swished against her shapely ankles in a most fascinating way. Somehow or another, defying the laws of gravity, the dress clung to her bustline, revealing her long, delicate neck.

It was hard to say how tall she was, as she had on very high heels. But, as far as he could tell from this angle, he figured she must be about medium height. Looked as if she led an active lifestyle, too, if her tan meant anything. Maybe she’d just returned from vacation. Some vacation where there were hot, sandy beaches. And bikinis. She’d look great in a bikini.

Really, it annoyed him, the way she had him staring, like some kind of gaping adolescent at a peep show. Never before had he been so captivated by a person’s appearance.

Once again, she caught him staring and he grimaced, molars grinding. With a deep breath, he set his jaw and attempted to project a professional demeanor. Truth of the matter was, though he’d been invited as a friend, he was also here to work.

Unfortunately, Jesse had followed the line of his vision and spotted his interest in Juliet. “Yeah, she is something.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb, man. I saw the gleam in your eye.”

“Damn. And I’ve been working so hard to disguise it.” Ian turned and shot a sheepish grin at the fire. “I didn’t want her to think I came to the wedding to pick up women.”



Finally, curiosity got the better of Juliet and she broke down and asked Liza to fill her in on Ian Rafferty.

“You’ve heard of IntraCom Security Systems?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“He owns it. Built it from the ground up. Aside from the wedding, he’s here to look the place over for a new security system, now that the newest Mr. and Mrs. Colton will be living here. After so many years as the Chekagovian embassy and then diplomatic residence for the former Chekagovian ambassador, Jesse and Samantha thought that security might be an issue. Who knows what enemies the people that have lived here have made, you know? Anyway, Ian Rafferty is rich, baby. Totally, stinking rich. Richer than your average Colton, and that’s saying something.”

Aahhh. Juliet nodded sagely. That explained the king-of-the-world attitude. Money. Big deal. She’d never been impressed by money. He was just an other Parker. Cold, uncaring, arrogant, playboy.

That much was apparent.

“But,” Liza gushed on, “you’d never know it. He never talks about himself. And the strange thing is, he is single.”

“I don’t find that strange. He seems to have the personality of Hitler’s Doberman.”

“Ian? You’re kidding. He’s a pussycat. Women all over the world have tried to snare him, but so far, no luck.”

“Maybe he’s a gay pussycat.”

Head back, Liza hooted. “Ian Rafferty? No way. I didn’t say he didn’t enjoy women, he just hasn’t let one catch him yet.”

“Why buy the cow and all that, huh?”

“No. Honestly, Juliet,” Liza gripped her forearm and jostled her back and forth, “you are so cynical for such a sweet young woman.”

“That’s what having a political lawyer for a father will do for you. Politics and law. That, and a lying, cheating, conniving ex-boyfriend do tend to make one a little jaded.”

Liza took Juliet’s hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm. “Lucky you, Ian is neither a politician nor a lawyer. Come with me. I want you to meet him.”

“No, no, no, that’s okay. I don’t want to meet him. Really. I was just interested in who some of the guests are…in fact, see that woman in the bright red velvet and bead thing? Who is she?”

Unfortunately, Juliet’s diversionary tactics did not work. Liza was bent on introductions to this Ian character and that was that.

As she was tugged along, Juliet sighed and wondered why she’d asked the bubbly, social butterfly Liza about Ian. She should have known it would lead to uncomfortable introductions. Heavenly days, she’d rather sing karaoke naked right now, than have to make small talk with someone who reminded her so much of her arrogant ex.

“Liza—” Juliet tried to inject some carefree gaiety into her laughter as she trotted after Liza “—really, I must use the powder room. My nose is positively Rudolph. And I’ve had more than several cups of coffee. And champagne. My teeth are sort of floating… Just…uh…”

Liza ignored her limp excuses and proceeded to nudge Juliet toward Ian.

Cheeks stretched taut, Juliet pasted her smile firmly in place and battled her way through the clouds of perfume, screeching laughter, and haute couture. The air was becoming thick, down here in the people forest. Thick with heat. Thick with inebriation. It was definitely time to go home.

A waiter squeezed past with a tray of full champagne flutes and Juliet set down her empty and snagged a new one. Slowly, like a machete-wielding safari hunter, Liza small talked and chit-chatted her way through the mob and over to the fireplace. A fire popped merrily inside the massive rock structure as, hands behind his back, Ian warmed himself.

“Ian!” Liza squealed and, towing a hapless Juliet in her wake, stopped short and thrust Juliet into his frigid field of vision.

Up close, Juliet could see that his eyes were a cool and steely blue. At complete odds with the heat that belched from the fireplace.

“Liza.”

“Ian Rafferty, I’d like you to meet the sister of the bride, Juliet Cosgrove.”

Ian held out his hand. “How do you do?”

“Fine,” she lied, suffering from an unfortunate case of déjà vu. She’d met Parker at a wedding. A good friend had introduced them. The regrettable similarities were astounding. Tall, dark, handsome, and cool as a Christmas cucumber. At least he had a halfway decent handshake. Probably paid some image consultant to teach him how.

Liza beamed back and forth between the two, as she blathered.

“Ian and his company, IntraCom Security develop security systems for various businesses such as jewelry franchises and also the government and the private sector. I don’t really understand all that Ian does, but I find it fascinating to listen to him tell how his work has foiled even the most brilliant criminal minds when it comes to securing valuable points of interest in the D.C. area,” Liza parroted from the commercial on TV. “Right, Ian?”

Ian smiled tolerantly. “Something like that, yes.”

Juliet pulled her curled lip between her teeth. Yes, sir. Parker would have smiled and answered with the same arrogant demeanor. She detested him already.

Liza seemed not to notice that he was such a social boob as she continued to natter like one of Cupid’s salesclerks on commission. “Juliet grew up in Washington, D.C., and is used to being around politics. Her father practices law. Her mother is very active in charitable organizations and other social groups. Her younger brother is a college man…he’s running around here somewhere… Anyway, Juliet is a literary agent extraordinaire. She represents some of the biggest fiction talent in the nation.”

Seemingly unimpressed, Ian lifted a brow and deigned to bestow her with his precious gaze. “Oh? And have I heard of your authors?”

“Probably not. I deal mainly in women’s fiction.”

“Ah. Romance novels and How to Lose Weight, How to Build Self-Esteem, that kind of stuff?”

Juliet chafed at his attitude. Somehow, he had, with only a few words, managed to affront every one of her sensibilities. “How-to books are non- fiction,” she gritted out, then took a deep breath to calm herself and remember that he was, in his Cro-Magnon way, just trying to make conversation.

He raised a skeptical brow.

“I can tell by the dubious tone in your voice that you are not a fan of women’s fiction,” she added coolly.

“Hearts and flowers have never been my choice in entertainment.” His tone was laced with sarcasm.

“Don’t tell me,” she eyed him speculatively, “you read Grisham and Clancy.”

“I enjoy a good book, yes.”

“And they are very good. But I believe it is possible to enjoy all kinds of fiction.”

Ian shrugged. “Politics and murder and international espionage make for more interesting plot, than boy meets girl, girl is stupid enough to misunderstand everything the poor guy says, boy loses girl, and then boy is stupid enough to propose to irrational girl.”

“This is beginning to sound like personal experience. Was someone stupid enough to misunderstand your irrational proposal?” she asked, blinking innocent eyes. Juliet could only imagine the poor girl who’d been foolish enough to imagine that there was a compassionate person under that facade. The man was as cuddly as concrete.

“No. It’s just that Tom Clancy’s work is actually more in line with my version of reality than the sexcapades of some silly boy and girl.”

“You must lead a pretty adventurous, non-silly life, huh? That must explain your complete and total boredom with something as tame, and romantic as a wedding reception.”

Over her shoulder, Liza spied a friend across the room and excused herself. “You two enjoy yourselves,” she said, mistaking their biting conversation for witty repartee, and hustled off.

“My mind is on other things, yes.” He said it with such an air of condescension it made Juliet want to scream.

“Matters of espionage and murder, no doubt,” Juliet acknowledged as sweetly as she could muster, but ready to pounce.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“No.”

She grinned at his obstinance. “Has anyone ever told you, that for a supposed nice guy, with a lot of class, that you are neither?”

“Who said that?” The tiny lines forked at the corners of his eyes.

“What? That you are nice and classy?”

“Well, I assume it wasn’t you.”

“Liza.”

“Ah, Liza has always been a romantic.” The condescending attitude was back.

“Coming from you, a backhanded compliment.” Take that, she thought.

“Your cousin is a lady.”

Ouch, and she was not. Didn’t take a phonics course to understand what he was trying to say. He found the fact that she was independent with strong opinions unladylike. Just like Parker had. Juliet fell silent.

The staff made the rounds with food and drink. They both loaded their napkins with gourmet finger fare and stood quietly. As they ate, they turned away from each other, as if they’d talk to other people, if only some other people would show up. But alas, no one did.

Juliet looked out the window.

Ian stared into the fire.

The orchestra returned from their break and struck up a rousing waltz. Thomas Colton, patriarch of the Oklahoma Colton clan, took his turn with the bride, whirling her around the dance floor like a seasoned veteran. Over by the champagne fountain, more corks popped, startling more people, and raucous laughter followed from a few who seemed to have imbibed a bit too much.

Ian knew he’d blown it with Juliet. He couldn’t really say why he’d been so cool, except that he’d been trying to exude confidence all evening, and when Liza suddenly surprised him with introductions, he hadn’t been able to change gears fast enough. And then she’d gone and gotten kind of huffy about her career and he hadn’t known how to backpedal, and…damn!

He glanced sideways and noted that she didn’t seem aware that he existed. A small grin tugged at his mouth. She was an opinionated little spitfire and about as cute as a cobra, but he was intrigued. He liked a woman who said what she meant and didn’t mince words.

And, if her body language was any indication, she was trying to tell him to drop dead. Oh, well. He was here to work on a protection system for this family. He had to remember that. He forced himself to stare at the fire. Maybe sometime this week, he’d call her and apologize for being a boor.

No, that would never cut the mustard with a romantic like her. He sighed. The time to apologize was now. As he wracked his brain for the proper words, he allowed his gaze to trail a man in a dark trench coat across the room. He squinted as he attempted one more shot with Juliet.

“About your career. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on the type of fiction you represent. I mean, I’m sure that there are redeeming reasons to read up on relationships, and self-improvement and love and all that stuff—”

By degrees, her head rotated and the heat in the room shifted from the fireplace to her narrowed gaze. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”

“I’m a realist.”

“You’re a party pooper.”

Ian cocked his head and shot his brows as if her opinion mattered not one whit to him. “Every party needs one.”

Slowly, he tore his gaze away from the man across the room and settled it on Juliet, feeling suddenly inspired. “You see the mistletoe hanging over our heads on this mantle as something romantic. Perhaps a reason to share a kiss with a lover. Or even a stranger.”

A lazy step forward brought Ian’s nose just inches from her own and suddenly Juliet’s heart was chugging and her blood pumping. For a split second, she was convinced that he was going to lean in just a fraction and settle his mouth upon hers. And, oddly enough, she—for one harebrained moment of insanity—wanted to taste those chiseled, sarcastic lips. That is, until he said, “I see it as fungus.”

She snorted. “Amazing. That’s how I see you.”

His laughter rang out as Juliet once again turned to the window near the fireplace. She liked his laugh. It was a heartfelt affair and her opinion of him moved up a notch. There was frost on the windowpanes and, from where she stood, she could see the snow was falling in great, huge tufts, and building on the ground. Under the streetlamp, it was a veritable fairyland.

She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. It was drafty over here by the window, where a long hall, just behind them, stretched from here, to the other end of the building.

Reflected in the window, Juliet watched Ian fish his cell phone out of his breast pocket and voice dial his company. “IntraCom Security,” he said, and then listened for an answer.

The man was doing business. In the middle of a party. Her opinion dropped two notches.

“Hi, Rudy? Ian. Listen, I’m at the Colton mansion right now. I was wondering if you could check out a—” Beep. “No, don’t worry about that. It’s my battery. I forgot to charge it last night. Yeah.” Beep. “Damn. Anyway, can you hear me?

“Okay, in a second, I’ll try to get to another phone. But first, listen, I want you to check on something odd I noticed here, about the way the current security system—” Beep. He glanced up at a camera mounted in the far corner. “—seems to suddenly be malfunctioning. Did you get that? Rudy? Rudy? You there? Damn.” Ian shoved his phone in his pocket.

A satisfied grin bloomed on Juliet’s mouth. Since he’d made it clear he had others to talk to, she decided it was time to take her ego home and put it to bed before it took any more hits. “Well, it’s past my bedtime.” She bared her teeth in a pseudo smile, and took a few steps back. “I’ve gotta run. This has certainly been so…very…”

“Wait, and I’ll help you with your coat.” Ian grabbed Juliet by the arm and pulled her back near the closet in the hallway.

“You’ll what?” How caveman! She jerked her arm away. He may be rich, but money didn’t buy everything. Nobody treated Juliet Cosgrove like some kind of helpless female who couldn’t dress herself. “My coat is lying on my sister’s bed.”

He grunted, but didn’t release her arm. She rolled her eyes as, like 007 on a wedding buffet reconnaissance mission, Ian’s gaze darted nervously about the tables and out to the couples on the dance floor. In Juliet’s humble opinion, he really took this security thing waaaay too seriously. She could tell he was buying time for some reason when he said, “Look, your new uncle Joe is about to make a toast to the newlyweds. You don’t want to miss that.”

“He’s not my new uncle Joe. He’s my sister’s new uncle Joe.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just enjoy it from the other side of the room.”

She tried to enter the ballroom, but Ian took a step forward, his giant body blocking her escape. For pity’s sake. She sagged against the wall behind him and decided that rather than making a scene at her sister’s reception, she’d disappear as soon as the speech was finished. Even if she had to run down the hall and sneak out the back door.

Joe Colton tapped the microphone with his finger and the Christmas music and murmur of happy guests mingling, began to wane. Standing up on a small stage, Joe lifted a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other and gave a short, but poignant speech about love and fidelity, family and bonds, and community and country.

Soon, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house and besides his voice the only sounds were the sentimental sniffles of the guests. Midspeech, Joe paused and glanced at his wife, Meredith, and then at Samantha and Jesse, and the tears welled in his own eyes.

“I’ve been very blessed in my life, materially speaking. But most important of all,” Joe said, “is the blessing of love and family. No amount of money can ever equal the joy that finding one’s soulmate can bring. To Samantha and Jesse. Here’s to a future of passion and love.”

He held up a champagne bottle, peeled back the foil and popped the cork. Behind him, the wine stewards followed suit. More loud pops followed, amid much shouting and Juliet grinned broadly, really beginning to enjoy being a part of this big, rowdy family.

That is, until she realized that she’d just been tossed into a coat closet.

Chapter 2

“Shhhh!” Ian clapped a hand over the squealing Juliet’s mouth. “Don’t say a word.”

Like a hyperactive squirrel, Juliet scrambled about in his arms, fists flying, feet flailing. Man. She was strong for such a slender thing, Ian had to give her that. The whirling dervish she’d become would put Jackie Chan to shame. It was pitch-black in the walk-in coat closet and Ian suspected that even when their eyes adjusted, it would be too dark to see much of anything.

Including the handbag that whapped him upside the head.

“Hey, hey, hey, chill out!” Ian grappled with her for the purse.

He was just a hair too late as she had already located her pepper spray and was preparing to blast him.

“No!” Ian grasped her wrist and peeled the spray out of her fingers. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Me?” She reared back and he could sense her jaw sagging. “Me?”

As his eyes adjusted, he could barely make out that she was fishing through her bag again, for heaven only knew…

“Ooowww!”

One hand flew to the sudden pain in his shoulder, the other to her wrist. Brass knuckles. Where on earth had she come up with brass knuckles? Holding his hands out in front of him, he took a step back, trying to defend himself from what seemed like an angry flock of chickens.

“Juliet! Stop! Before one of us really gets hurt.”

“You don’t scare me, you…you…pervert!”

“Shhhh!” He paused. “Pervert?”

“Yeah, I’m not just some easy bimbo, turned on by your money.”

“We’re not in here because I think you’re easy. Woman,” he rotated his throbbing shoulder, “you are anything but easy.”

Arms in windmill formation, she ranted, “Okay, okay, Joe Colton’s speech gave you ideas. You have a romantic side. I believe you now. You don’t have to demonstrate. But let me set you straight right now, buster… I’m not just some silly girl looking for some silly sexcapades in the closet with you. Got that?”

“Juliet, listen—”

As she flailed, a coat sleeve landed in her mouth. “Pppffffttt, pfffftt! Blaaaaa pfft! You have no right to uh, abscond with me this way, Mister…Adventure! Let go of me this instant!” she demanded even as she found herself airborne and being propelled to the back of the closet.

“Oww!” Ian muttered as he stumbled over a shoebox and impaled himself on an umbrella. “Would you please, please, be still?” He grabbed the umbrella’s handle and with a flapping whoosh, it inflated.

“Eeeeoooowww!” Juliet shrieked and boxed the nylon webbing as they grappled.

“Would you shut up?” Wrestling the umbrella from between them, he flung it over his shoulder.

“I most certainly will not. I can’t believe Liza is so deluded that she actually thinks you are normal!”

Again, he clapped a hand over her mouth only to feel her teeth sink into the fleshy part of his palm. “Okay!” he huffed into her ear, “Okay, okay, okay! I won’t do that again, but if you don’t want to listen to me, just listen to what is going on, outside the closet door.” Arms around her waist, he set her on her feet and attempted—unsuccessfully—to face her toward the door. “I’m not trying to hurt you!”

Together they fell and rolled among the coats, Juliet, still flapping like a Thanksgiving turkey under the ax.

“Listen!” Ian commanded. “You can hear for yourself. Someone has crashed this party and if I’m not mistaken, they are toting guns.”

“You have read far too much Clancy—”

A series of shots, semi-automatic, judging by the number, suddenly fired from the ballroom. The music abruptly stopped. People were still screaming and the shouts of angry men followed, calling for silence, if their tone could be understood.

Juliet fell silent.

Men using a foreign tongue barked furious orders. One man with a heavy accent translated into English.

“Don’t panic, and no one will be hurt.”

The sounds of hurried footsteps and furniture scraping across the floor filtered through the closet as the crowd rushed to comply. Off at the other end of the room, a servant dropped a tray, and a man shouted in another language.

Fingers crushed to her lips, Juliet murmured, “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Heedless of the danger beyond, she staggered to the closet door but Ian was quick to haul her back. They fell back among the hanging coats and battled both the heavy garments and each other.

“You can’t go out there! Are you crazy?”

“Ian, there are pregnant women out there!” She broke free and, crawling awkwardly over the length of her sparkly skirt, which was now caught on one of her super-high heels, she strained on her knees toward the door.

Ian beat her there and blocked her way. There was a low fury in his voice as he spoke. “They have husbands to care for them. You cannot help anyone at this point. You can, however, get yourself killed.” Scooting up behind her, his fingers closed around her ankle and he tugged, dragging them both back from the door.

“But my sister! My little brother. My mother! Daddy!”

A glass shattered, followed by more foreign shouts. Several shots fired off, and people screamed.

Juliet threw it into reverse and crawled backward so fast, she landed in Ian’s lap, and fairly wrapped herself around his head. Threading her fingers through his hair, she hung on for dear life and crushed her cheek to his.

“Okay,” she whimpered, “maybe you’re on to something…maybe, maybe, maybe…someone is here to shoot at Joe again. Maybe it’s his sister-in-law, that Patsy Portman woman. I read about her in the paper. She’s nuts. Or, or, or, or, or, maybe Joe’s brother Graham showed up and finally went off the deep end. I’ve heard all about him, too. My dad warned my sister that this Colton clan was filled with more nuts than a can of Planters, but would she listen?” Juliet panted, “Oh, nooooooo—”

“Would you shut up?”

Juliet hyperventilated into her closed fists. “What,” she whispered, barely audibly, “is going on out there?” Her heart was pounding like a pile driver on fast forward. Her hand shook as she raised it to brush her fallen hairstyle out of her face and, as she did so, her fingers came into contact with Ian’s jaw.

He clutched her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

“I don’t know yet. But it’s big trouble,” he muttered. “Sixty percent of all burglaries occur while a home is occupied. Thirty-eight percent of robberies are committed with firearms. In the United States alone, a burglar enters a home every fourteen seconds. And, they don’t have a battery backup security system in this house. It’s truly archaic. If they cut the lines, there is no override system. I had a feeling something was up when the cameras in the ballroom stopped scanning…”

“Ohhh—” Juliet pressed their locked hands to her mouth and moaned “—great. Just…great. I land in the closet with an infomercial for IntraCom Security.”

“Sorry.”

Booted feet stomped down the hall and harsh voices, speaking gibberish to Juliet’s ear, filtered through the door.

“What did he just say?” Juliet demanded and clutched the placket of his suit jacket.

In a hurried whisper, Ian attempted to explain. “I don’t know. I think they are speaking Chekagovian, a dialect of German.”

“Chekagovian? Never heard of it. You speak Chekagovian?”

“No. I speak some German, a little Russian. But I can catch a word or two here and there.”

“Who the hell are you?” Suddenly he didn’t remind her of Parker at all.

“Just your average, run-of-the-mill business guy.” He began to search about behind him, exploring their surroundings. “Knowing a few languages comes in handy in my line of business.”

“So, are you ever going to tell me what they said?”

“You are short on patience, aren’t you?”

“Will you stop analyzing me and just tell me what they said?”

“Shhhh! They said they were terrorists—”

“What?”

“They said they were terrorists—”

“I heard that part! What else?”

“—and they wanted everyone to stay calm.”

“Fat chance.” Again, Juliet began to hyperventilate. “What else,” she panted, “did they say? What…huh, huh…are they…huh, huh…saying right now?”

“Be quiet and I’ll tell you.”

There was more shouting.

“Sounds like they’re planning on searching the house.”

“The whole house?”

“Likely.”

“Then, then, then, then, we’re probably not safe in here, then, huh?”

“Uh…no. C’mon. Let’s get as far back here, behind the coats as we can and pray that they don’t think to look under the pile.”

The walk-in closet was about twelve feet by fourteen feet and filled to the gills with storage cupboards for mittens and hats and scarves and other winter sundries. One wall was lined with shelving for boots and such and the other two walls had double rows of rods, currently packed with the coats of reception guests. There were furs and faux furs and wraps of all nature and size.

Together, Juliet and Ian frantically searched around, feeling the walls, patting the coats, and each other in their quest for the perfect place to hide. Every time Juliet knelt on her skirt and crawled forward, she could feel her bodice tug just a little lower.

Luckily it was dark.

She started as just outside the door a loud voice shouted in Chekagovian.

Ian gave a sketchy translation for Juliet’s benefit. “Soldiers! Come down here! Let a search begin in this hall also.”

“Just one moment.”

More shouting, unintelligible now.

It sounded as if they’d opened the door into the room next door to them first. Muffled voices, furious cursing and the sound of ransacking were growing ever closer.

Juliet froze with panic. “Now what?” she squeaked.

“They’re going to search one room at a time.”

“Oh?”

“C’mon. According to my calculations, we’re next. We’ve gotta hide.”

“I can’t see a thing.”

“We can’t turn on the light. Just keep feeling your way.” Arms outstretched, he patted his way over her backless gown to her sequined bottom.

“Sorry.”

“S’alright.”

Blindly, they crawled into the inky black shadows and behind the coats. Under a set of corner shelves, Ian found an area that just might work as a hideout, if they could quickly and silently unload some of the ski paraphernalia stored there.

Juliet grabbed a bag of miscellany on the floor and flung it over her shoulder, inadvertently hitting Ian in the head with a rubber boot.

“Hey, woman,” Ian hissed, “we can’t just throw stuff all over the place. We have to stack it neatly, or they’ll know we’re here.”

Juliet muttered under her breath about how hard it was to find good help in the middle of a terrorist attack and falling in next to Ian, systematically worked, cleaning out an area that would accommodate the two of them.

Around her neck, Juliet’s little gold party purse was beginning to cut off her air supply, and she was coming dangerously close to popping out of her dress’s strapless bustline, but she figured there would be time for modesty and breathing later, when they were safe.

Feverishly they worked, a confusion of bodies and breath and hair and muscles and hands. His hands landed in awkward spots. So did hers.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she accidentally crawled between his legs.

“No, I’m sorry,” he admitted.

“You didn’t know,” she muttered, face flaming.

“Hey!” There was a spark of excitement in his stage whisper. “I think we might be in luck!”

“What?”

Ian inched on his belly and probing the wall with his fingers, found a vent that allowed air to circulate. Behind the grillwork, there was an opening that led to a crawl space under the massive stairs. He tore off the vent cover and rumbled with triumph.

Ian backed out, grabbed Juliet by the arm and before she knew what hit her, he was propelling her under the corner shelf and into the miniscule one-by-two-foot hole.

“Hurry, I found the perfect hiding place. You go in first and I’ll bring up the rear.”

Being that she was terrified of small, dark spaces, Juliet gratefully declined the nomination and chirped over her shoulder, “No, no, that’s okay. You go in first.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! We don’t have time!” On all fours behind her, he nudged at her bottom with the top of his head. “Get in there.”

“No, it’s too dark. I can’t…see… You go first!”

“Get in there!”

“But I—”

“Damn it, woman, you are the most obnoxious thing I have ever had the dubious honor—”

His voice grew muffled as Juliet felt herself being jettisoned, face first through the opening. Frantically, she muscled her way up to her hips and stalled for a quick breather. As she rested, she wondered how a guy Ian’s size would make it through this opening. Her heaving bosom caught her attention and she had to wonder how she’d ended up with her bare body in the crawl space and her dress…well, her dress had headed south for the winter and was now bunched around her waist and inside the closet. With Ian. The wadded fabric made getting through this particular rabbit hole just a smidgen more interesting.

More shots were fired and—dragging her purse—Juliet somersaulted into the mysterious space and cracked her head on a rafter in the process. Seeing stars, she paused to groan.

“You okay?”

“Mmfph.” Just ducky considering all the king’s horses would have a tough time putting her head back together anytime soon. That and the fact that she was sitting there, nude from the waist up. She struggled to tug her dress back up under her armpits, where it belonged.

Once her eyes adjusted to the moonlight that filtered from a small vent near the ceiling, she could discern a few shadowy shapes. On the floor, there was a landing made of plywood, and then a catwalk of sorts, lying across evenly spaced floor joists that allowed access between the sprawling double staircase. The walls were lath and plaster and pink fiberglass insulation was stuffed between the studs. Between the joists, the floor was covered with some kind of cottony insulation that clung to, well, everything, as she crawled down the four-foot wide boardwalk to make room for Ian.

Off in the dank, dark corners, Juliet could swear she heard the scratching of some kind of rodent. Rat? Mouse? Or worse… Bats? Lots of bats. Certainly an area like this had to be bat heaven.

All possibilities had her shuddering. And there were spiders. Of that she became positive, as she spit a cobweb out of her mouth.

“Ewww.”

Through the opening, Ian stuffed several fur coats and a sleeping bag he’d found in with the ski gear.

“Hurry,” Juliet whispered. “Get in here.” She forced herself not to give in to the sensations of panic that were washing over her. She had to keep a clear head. This was a matter of staying alive.

“I’m coming.”

An avalanche of coats burst through the opening.

“We don’t need all those coats. It’s not like we’ll freeze to death.”

“Nag, nag, nag. Besides, famous last words. It’s cold in here, baby. Too cold to hide for very long in that skimpy thing you’re wearing.”

He had a point. Juliet shivered. Man, she was scared. More scared than she’d ever been in her life. More scared than the time she’d stayed up late as a child with the neighbor girls and watched Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds and then had nightmares for months about birds nesting in her closet and under her bed and…in her hair.

She reached up and patted her head, just for good measure and found a clump of spider webbing. She shuddered.

“Ufff.” Ian’s grunts drew Juliet from her anxious musings.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I thought I’d just lie here with my head under the stairs and let those idiots out there shoot at my butt. What are you doing?”

“Very funny.” Juliet tossed the coats out of her way. Grabbing his arms, she braced her foot against a floor joist and tugged, trying to pull him through the hole. She grunted, and tugged some more. But nothing was happening. “If this is anything like childbirth,” she panted, “you can count me out.”

“Here,” Ian huffed, “put your arms around my chest and on three, tug.”

“On three?”

“As in ‘one, two and…’?”

“I…uh…okay.” Blast her stupid dress. Really inhibited crawling. Hiking her skirts up to her hips, she slithered up to the wall on her bottom and, bending low, snaked her arms around his great big, rock-hard chest. Then, she braced her feet and pulled for all she was worth.

“I…said…on…three,” he bit out.

“Oh, right, right, right.”

Together they counted. “One…two…threeeee!”

Nothing.

Outside, they heard more shouts from the terrorists.

“I have an idea,” Juliet panted into Ian’s ear.

“Spit it out.”

“Exhale on three.”

“Okay.”

Again, they counted, again they strained through the hole and this time, they were met with success as Ian rocketed through the hole to land on top of her. They lay like that for a moment, nose to nose, breathing heavily, resting.

“Uuuuuh…” Ian groaned and rolled off Juliet and lay at her side. “Thanks. I feel like I should offer you a cigarette.”

“I’d prefer a morphine drip. You’re no featherweight. I feel like I’ve just slow danced with a speeding freight train.”

Another loud yell, this time much closer, and they scurried to drag in the rest of the coats and to tug the vent back where it belonged. The louvers allowed some muffled noise to penetrate and they stacked some loose boards and bats of insulation against the sides of the opening, hoping to jam the vent into place and at the same time, confound the thugs.

Once they were settled into a nest of fur—Ian against the wall and Juliet fairly sitting in his lap—they listened.

Ian interpreted as much as he could understand for Juliet and the more she heard, the more she understood how grim the situation was becoming.

Ducking her head, Juliet suddenly emitted a muffled scream.

“What now?”

“A spider.”

“So?”

“It’s huge. Like a tarantula. All hairy and it has huge legs. Maybe…maybe it’s a bat!” Juliet took a swat at the thing with her purse.

“Ouch! Those are not legs, they are fingers. Your spider-bat is my hand.”

“Oh. Sorry. You need to shave your hands.”

Ian snorted and tossed a fur glove at her.

“Here, shave this.”

Dust flew when it landed in the cottony insulation. “Uh-oh…I’m going to sneeze.”

“No,” Ian commanded. “You’re not.”

“I can’t heh…heh…heh…elp it.”

“Ohhh, yes you can.” With his fingertips, he groped her face, finding her lips and working his way north. He pinched her nose and hissed, “If you sneeze, they could find us. And kill us. Don’t do it.”

She nodded.

Slowly, he let go.

“Aaaacheeechhhieee,” she squeaked.

Ian heaved a snort of disgust. “What the hell kind of a sneeze was that?”

“A perfectly legitimate one,” she sniffed and geared up to sneeze again.

“Listen.” He groped for her nose and pinched.

“Whaa’s goink nn?”

Doors opened, doors slammed. The sounds ransacking the room across the hall had them both jumping as books and knickknacks crashed to the floor and glass shattered. Angry voices told Ian—who whispered to Juliet—they hadn’t found what they were looking for yet.

The voices became louder as their closet door was jerked open and the footsteps of more than one man clomped inside.

Juliet’s eyes grew round. Her fingers bit into Ian’s bicep. “They, they, they, they are inside our closet!” Raw terror closed off her throat.

Ian nodded and clapped his hand over her lips. “Don’t bite.”

“Mmm.”

“And don’t sneeze.”

With a nod, Juliet burrowed back against his chest and was surprised at the fury with which his heart was beating. He circled her waist with his arms and their breathing became synchronized in its ragged labor. Cheek-to-cheek, they strained to see and hear through the pitch-blackness.

Through the vent, they could see the beam of a flashlight swing around. The beam landed on the vent and illuminated their feet.

They both froze.

Muffled foreign words were muttered just beyond the wall. Juliet stopped breathing and could sense Ian doing the same. Ever so slowly, the men backed out of the closet.

Ian and Juliet hovered for an eternity in silence as thick as day-old pea soup, hearts thrumming, blood coursing, adrenaline flowing.

“What did they say?”

“I didn’t get it. But they left and that’s good. Maybe they’re not in the mood to ski.”

They both exhaled in huge relief, and then ventured some silent laughter. Still nestled in his lap, Juliet loosened her grip about his neck.

Whispering, Ian joked that in other circumstances, this would really be turning him on.

Juliet whispered back that in other circumstances, she would be slapping his face for the position of his hands.

“What do you think they are trying to find?” Juliet wondered.

“Could be anything.”

“When do you think they’ll leave?”

“Not until they find what they are looking for.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling it has something to do with the Ritkas. I seriously doubt that Jesse or your sister would have anything that a foreign rebel faction would find interesting.”

“True. I wonder why would they pick Christmas Eve and a wedding of all times to do this?”

“Probably because they know that what they are after is here in the house today. Maybe they needed hostages. Maybe they needed publicity. They could be looking for a person. A guest at the wedding.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Quiet. Here they come again.”

“Here? They are coming back here? To, to, to, to, to this closet? But they were just, just, just, just here—”

They both sucked in a deep breath and held it as the closet door was once again opened and heavy footfalls approached. Overhead, a light flashed on. The men muttered as they worked, ripping coats off the hangers and pulled boxes off the shelves over the hanger rod and onto the floor.

When everything lay in a heap, the men began to search the rubble. A flashlight beam flooded the areas beneath the lower shelves and circled the floorboards. The glow lit the knee wall through the metal vent.

Again, the light stopped and trained on the vent.

Juliet thrust her face into Ian’s neck and stifled a scream as she wrapped his torso with her arms and legs. Ian held her tight and kissed her temple and whispered soothing words into her ear. The beam traveled on, and then back to the vent.

Chapter 3

The strange men conferred in low tones.

The light moved on.

Silently, absently, Ian stroked Juliet’s hair and cheeks and, with the backs of his knuckles, he could feel her lips moving.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m praying.”

“Oh.” Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Good.”

“We’re going to die,” she whispered.

“No, no. We’re not. Have faith.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“You don’t seem scared. You seem all brave, like some guy out of a Tom Clancy book.”

“Inside I’m some guy out of a Tom Jell-O book.”

“What if they find the crawl space?”

“They won’t.”

“Why not? We did.”

“They have no reason to believe we are in here. If we’re still and quiet, they’ll move away and search something else.”

“But what if…”

Ian moved his mouth to her ear and murmured, “Juliet, you have to be quiet.”

“But how do you…”

Stubborn woman! “Juliet, I’m not kidding. You have to be quiet. They are only a few feet away.”

“But I’m scare…”

With an impatient sigh, Ian cupped her cheeks and pulled her mouth under his, to shut her up the only way he could think of at the moment. Juliet stopped struggling and froze. Only when she reflexively began to kiss him back, did he release her. They hovered nose-to-nose, lip-to-lip.

“Please?” Ian urged her silence.

Her forehead pressed to his, she nodded.

Eventually, the voices and the men moved out of the closet.

“They’re gone.”

Juliet exhaled and lay limply against Ian and knew that with that kiss, their relationship changed irrevocably. The difference now shimmered between them, like the electricity in the air just before a summer thunderstorm. And though this instant camaraderie was born of urgency and fear, it was no less real.

Juliet knew Ian felt it as keenly as she had.

Like a summer fog on a morning meadow, their animosity vanished and was replaced with trust.

Ian rested his cheek against her temple and thought aloud. “I have to come up with a way to get out of here and find help.”

“No!” Juliet panicked and clutched his arms. “You can’t go! I need you. Bold rescue moves like that only work in the books you read. Don’t try to be some kind of hero. They’ll just kill you. We can wait them out. Here. Together. Please, don’t go. Please.” She shuddered at the thought of being left alone.

“I promise I won’t go until I figure out some kind of plan.”

Somewhat mollified, Juliet fell silent for a moment before she asked, “So. What would Jack Ryan do in a situation like this?”

“Since we’re not on a submarine, or in a tank, I’m at a total loss. You publish fantasy. Surely you’ve seen enough happily ever afters to know how this thing ends.”

“Uhhh, no. One of my clients wrote a book about two people stranded on an iceberg, but their biggest concern was making fire.”

“Do tell.” Ian’s tone was droll as he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie.

“Yeah. I guess that wouldn’t be much help now.” Relishing the body warmth, Juliet picked up his jacket and pulled it over her legs with a groan of relief.

Ian’s cell phone rang in her lap and they both scrambled through his pockets to find it.

Juliet won and quickly turned it off.

“Phewww,” she whispered with a triumphant smile. “That was close.”

“What the hell did you do that for?” he snapped and snatched the phone from her hands in exasperation.

“Duh. It was ringing? Hello? You don’t want them to find us, do you?” she spit back furiously, hurt at his ungrateful attitude. Especially in light of the moment they’d just shared.

“If you’d answered it, we might have been able to get help.”

“Ohhh.” Though she tried, Juliet couldn’t keep the tears from her voice. “I…didn’t think of that.”

Ian groaned and she could fairly hear his eyes roll. “Oh, now, don’t go and start crying. I hate it when women cry.”

“Well. I wouldn’t want to make you feel bad, now would I?”

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not exactly my jolly self today. Forgive me?”

“I guess.” She sniffed.

“Thanks. Our first fight,” he teased and gave her a playful nudge.

Over her shoulder, Juliet shot him a bemused look as he rubbed her arm and placed a quick peck on her temple. He really was quite sweet. When he wanted to be.

He held up the phone. “Maybe we have enough battery to get 911.”

Juliet watched as he dialed. The light on the phone flickered.

Beeeeeeeep!

She winced. Bad sign.

“911 operator. Your emergency please.”

“Police. Look, my phone is dying, so listen up. We are being held captive in—”

Beeeeeeeep!

“I need your name and location, sir.”

“My name is Ian Rafferty and I’m at the Colton…” Beeeeeep…

“Sir…you are cutting…”

“Can you hear me?”

“Sir…”

“Hello? Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hopefully this will teach you not to check your voice mail in the middle of a party, in the future.”

Ian exhaled without comment.

“Now what are we going to do?”

Ian rearranged Juliet on his lap. “For a such a sharp tongue, you have very soft curves.”

“You’re pretty witty yourself. Ever think about writing?”

He chuckled. “After this? I may.”

She settled back against his chest, content to be nestled between his legs, his arms resting in her lap.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No. Are you?”

“I always eat when I’m terrified.”

“Sorry, I have nothing to offer you.”

Juliet grabbed her purse. “Tic-Tac? They have one whole calorie per serving, or something.”

“Do I need one?”

“No.” She snorted. “You have really good breath.” Embarrassed at her admission, she ducked her head and continued to rummage through her tiny, gold lamé clutch.

“You don’t happen to have a flashlight in that pathetic excuse for a purse, do you?”

“Uh… Yeah, come to think of it, I have a little one on my key chain.”

“Good. Give it to me.”

She rummaged some more. “Here.”

Ian nudged her off his lap and scooted to the edge of the plywood landing. Lying on his side, he flashed the small light under the eaves.

Juliet leaned toward him and whispered. “I hope everyone is okay out there. My…my whole family—” The emotions swelled, closing off her throat.

“I think they’re probably all right.” He sounded confident. But then, he always sounded confident, as far as Juliet could tell.

She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with her wrists. “How do you know?”

“I think the shots that have been fired were for shock value. The one guy did say that if they cooperated, no one would get hurt.”

“That’s true.” She raked a hand through her hair. That morning, it had been so chic. Now, it felt like freshly thrashed hay. Again, she was glad for the darkness. “I feel so sorry for Samantha and Jesse.”

“They’ll never forget their wedding day, that’s for sure.”

“If they live long enough to remember it.”

“I don’t think these guys are after the bride and groom.”

“How do you know? Jesse is with the National Security Agency.”

Chin to shoulder, Ian glanced back at Juliet. “Hunch.”

“The West Coast Coltons have enemies.”

“Not this kind.”

With aid of the tiny beam, they could now see that they were sitting in a little alcove, behind a closet and under the stairs. However, around the corner, there was a corridor of sorts that it seemed just may lead somewhere. Ian ventured off the platform and several yards down the catwalk.

“Where are you going?” Juliet cried, sotto voce. He was leaving? Now?

“Sit tight. I’m just going to crawl along this ledge here under the stairs. We may find an escape route, or a better vantage point to figure out what is going on and maybe even fight back.”

“No! Don’t.”

Ian groaned. “Why not?”

“Because they might see you. Or hear you. Or you could fall, or something.”

“Give me a real reason.”

Struggling to her knees, Juliet battled her way out of the pile of coats and, crawling up behind him, put her arms around his neck. “Because I’m scared.” Voice small and quaking with terror, she hated that she sounded almost childlike in her plea. “You are only one guy. There are a whole bunch of them.”

Ian’s shoulders flagged and she could tell she’d won this round.

“Okay. For now,” he capitulated. “But, when things settle down out there, we’ll need to go for help.”

“Fine.”

He followed her back to the pile of coats. Once there, he wrapped a fur around her shoulders and, sitting down beside her, lifted her into his lap. The insulation’s paper backing crackled as he settled against the wall and surrounded her with his arms.

A heartfelt sigh of relief escaped her lips as she rolled onto one hip and snuggled against his chest.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Beyond the closet, chaos. In here, safety.

Juliet listened to Ian’s steady heartbeat and was comforted. The paper rustled as he dipped his head and nudged her face up with his nose. They peered through the darkness, trying to judge one another’s intent. They lingered like this, transfixed.

“What if we die in here?” she whispered, her breath feathering his lips.

“Don’t even think like that.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a realist.”

“No you’re not. You’re an idealist. I’m the realist, and I say we’re going to make it out of here alive.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Ditto.”

They fell silent, breathing each other’s breath.

He’d kissed her once already. But that had been somehow different. He’d kissed her in order to silence her. Now, she was silent.

There was no real need now, other than comfort.

And want.

Her breathing quickened.

So did his.

Her heart thundered.

His did, too.

Again, his nose touched hers and gripping his shirt, she angled back into the crook of his shoulder and offered him her mouth.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ian’s lips found hers and Juliet had never felt so safe. She drooped against him like a snow-laden tree bough and relished the security of something as normal and wonderful as Ian’s embrace.

This climate of danger yielded heightened senses, which in turn gave way to a poignant yearning and a need so powerful that Juliet would never be able to describe with mere words.

Juliet felt Ian’s hands cupping the side of her face. He rested his thumbs in the dimples at the corners of her mouth and stroked her cheeks and explored the union of their lips. As his mouth moved over hers, their lungs labored and they clutched each other as if their lives depended on it.

Or, even worse, as if they had little life left to live.

And the kiss quickly ripened with impatience. Impatience to know each other, impatience to fast-forward their brief relationship into one of a lasting bond. Of implicit trust. Of mutual understanding.

She curled into his lap, her arms rising to rest at his shoulders, her hands splayed at the back of his head. His hair was so silky to the touch and smelled of manly shampoo. At his jaw, there was a trace of stubble as the hour grew late, and it abraded her cheeks most pleasantly. Heat rushed from Juliet’s toes to the top of her head and its impact nearly left her faint.

He nipped at her mouth, and tugged her lower lip between his teeth. Against her smile, his bloomed.

But their moment of escape was brief. The sudden sounds of floorboards creaking overhead pulled them from their reverie, and with great reluctance, Ian broke their kiss and tilted his head to the rafters. “They’ve gone upstairs.”

Quaking, Juliet nodded.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You have to be strong. Think of all the people out there, who are going to need our help.”

“I know.”

He kissed her gently on her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw and her nose.

“I really have to go. Soon. Waiting could mean people die.”

“Going could mean you die.”

“No.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying right here, tucked under one of these furs. You’ll wait until I come back for you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Her mouth twisted in frustration but he kissed it away.

“Good. I’ll…be back.”

Juliet sighed. “Roger, Arnold.”

Ian patted her leg and, flashlight leading the way, began his precarious journey under the trailing stairs. After about twenty feet, he sat up, looked over his shoulder and exhaled with impatience. “What are you doing?”