AFTERGLOW (20 page)

George said, "Then why don't we all adjourn to the living room, drink some of Elliot's famous egg nog—two varieties—and open our presents?"

The adults' egg nog had enough whiskey to make an elephant dance, Chelsea thought after one mug. She looked at the children and saw their eyes fastened on the presents.

"My thought exactly," she said, and fished out a wrapped package addressed to Taylor. "It's from me," she said. "And here's yours, Mark."

She saw Taylor start to rip open the paper, then pause and, as if through sheer willpower, sedately begin to untie the ribbon.

I've got to do something about that, she thought. She found she was holding her breath as Taylor opened her box first.

"Oh!" Taylor said. She held up a huge panda bear and stared at it. There was a white bow around the bear's neck and an envelope attached. Taylor looked toward Chelsea, a question in her eyes.

"They're tickets to the zoo to see the pandas next week. They're here on loan from China."

To Chelsea's surprise, Taylor rose from her chair, walked to where Chelsea sat and kissed her cheek. "I've never had a bear before. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, Taylor. Now you, Mark."

Mark squealed; there was no other word for it. He gazed in reverent awe at the baseball and mitt, autographed by Tod Hathaway, George's brother. "Oh, Dad! Oh, goodness! Look!"

"My brother Tod," George said, "is the pitcher for the Oakland A's. He told me to tell you hello and to get out there and play."

The children's faces were lit up almost as brightly as the Christmas tree, and Chelsea felt David's eyes on her. She turned to see a very tender look and swallowed a bit.

"You hit the jackpot, Chels," he said, reaching out his hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her down beside him on the floor.

David gave Chelsea her
Debrett's,
and she squealed as loudly as Mark had. "I've always had to go to the library and breathe in endless amounts of dust," she said, so delighted that she kissed him on the mouth. She heard Taylor make a distressed sound and released him. "Thank you, David. It's a marvelous present. As for yours," she continued, lowering her voice a bit, "you'll have to wait until we're alone."

David groaned.

"The evening was quite a hit," David told her later as he walked her to her car. "Thanks for thinking of the kids."

"My pleasure," she said, looking
up
at him.

"Sometime soon, I hope," he said, and pulled her into his arms. "Your pleasure, that is." He kissed her deeply and sighed with his own pleasure at the feel of her bottom in his hands. He held her very close, then, with a sigh of regret, released her. "You sober enough to get home in one piece?"

"If I don't make it, it will be because of my lascivious thoughts and not the egg nog."

"Just hold those thoughts, sweetheart." He kissed her again and helped her into her car.

"Tomorrow, at about one o'clock, for our catered dinner," Chelsea said. "Starve the kids. There'll probably be enough goodies for an entire battalion."

David drove his very contented children home some minutes later. When he tucked them in Taylor gazed up at him with her owlish, candid look and said, "I saw you kissing Chelsea, Dad."

"Me, too," said Mark from the other bed.

"It is Christmas," David said, looking from one of his children to the other. "Goodwill and cheer and all that."

"You kissed her hard, Dad," Taylor said. "And I saw your hands on her bottom before George yanked me away from the window."

"Just checking for patches?"

"Dad!"

"All right, you two, yes, I was kissing Chelsea. I like her very much."

"Are you going to marry her Dad?" Mark asked, adjusting the baseball and mitt on the pillow beside him.

David blinked at that.

"I sure like my panda," Taylor said.

If the two little devils could be bought, David thought, Chelsea had made a fine beginning. He said finally, his voice thoughtful, "You know, I doubt that Chelsea would want to marry me."

"Impossible!"

"Dad, you're the best in the world!"

Best at what? he wondered, kissing his daughter good-night.

He rose, then bent down to kiss Mark. When he straightened he said only, "Let's not discuss heavy stuff like that, okay? To be honest, guys, I have no idea what's going to happen."

As he walked out of the darkened bedroom he heard Taylor mutter to Mark, "I wonder if Mom is going to marry the general."

"I don't like it," Mark said.

Like which? David wondered as he quietly shut the door. The general or Chelsea?

Chapter 12

«
^
»

"
T
hat was delicious prime rib, Chelsea," David said, sitting back in his chair, his hands on his stomach. "Death from pigdom is imminent."

"Me, too," Chelsea said. "How 'bout you guys?"

"That was as good as Dr. Mallory's dinner," Taylor said. "Thank you."

"Did men make this dinner, too," asked Mark.

"No, sir," Chelsea said. "This was the proud result of women's work. Not bad, huh?"

"Yummy," said
Taylor
. She'd brought her panda, and it was seated in its own chair. Its name was MacEnroe.

Chelsea
regarded her stuffed guests with a smile that turned to a frown as she gazed out the window. It was raining in Marin on Christmas Day. All her plans for sailing, well
…

"Housebound, I fear," David said, following her thinking. Then he gave her the most lecherous look she'd ever seen, and she threw up her hands, giggling.

"Was that a joke, Dad?" Mark asked, looking from one adult to the other.

David gave a wrenching sigh. "Actually not, Mark. Tell you what, kids, why don't I show a movie for you guys on
Chelsea
's VCR?"

"We don't watch TV during the day, Dad,"
Taylor
said, her voice just a bit mournful.

"This is Christmas. You can do anything you want."

After settling the kids in front of the TV, David joined
Chelsea
in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway a moment, watching her. She was wearing gray wool slacks and a matching cashmere sweater. The slacks slithered delightfully over her bottom. "Well," he said, coming up behind her and kissing the back of her neck, "one should be able to do anything one wants on Christmas."

Chelsea
felt a surge of warmth at the touch of his mouth, and frowned at the leftover green beans. He'd just kissed her neck, for heaven's sake, and here she was ready to attack him. She turned slowly, carefully set down the green beans and hugged him. "Merry Christmas, David," she said, and stood on her tiptoes to be kissed.

"You would make a turnip horny," he said after a moment.

"You are so romantic."

"I am right now in transition between a Mark I hero and a Mark II. It sometimes leads to misinterpretations of my deepest, most sincere thoughts and desires."

"That, David Winter, makes no sense at all. And there's not much to misinterpret about a turnip."

He kissed the tip of her nose, then held her against him a moment, just savoring her closeness, her warmth. "My kids informed me last night that they saw me kissing you
hard
before George yanked them away from the window."

"How did you slither out of that one?"

"It was tough, particularly when they pointed out that I was touching your bottom, too."

"Oh, dear,"
Chelsea
said, pulling back from him just a bit. "If I recall correctly, that was my fault. I can't seem to keep my hands off you. Or stop encouraging you. Our scientific research and all that."

"I didn't keep any notes," David said, kissing her ear. "I think I've forgotten all the groundwork we laid."

"Laid? Really, doctor! Ah, but you still have the greatest enthusiasm," she said, feeling him hard against her belly.

He moaned deep in his throat, cupped her bottom in his hands and drew her up against him.

"Dad, do you think I—"

He released her very slowly before turning to his son. "Yes, Mark?"

"I—I'm sorry," Mark stammered. "I just wanted a glass of soda." His eyes went from his father's face to
Chelsea
's. "You were kissing again," he said.

"Yes," David said. "Yes, we were. A soda you say? Does
Taylor
want anything to drink?"

"No," Mark said, looking guilty.
Chelsea
wondered just how long the boy had been watching them before saying anything. She pulled herself together and said brightly, "You don't want to miss any of the movie, Mark. Go back in the living room and I'll bring you some root beer, okay?"

Mark nodded, but his gaze was searching and uncertain.
Chelsea
sighed. Play it light, she said to herself. You have no idea what David thinks or wants. She reminded herself to tell him how coincidental it was that her hero designations had the same name as his son. Maybe in the year 2000 his son would be a Mark III.

It wasn't difficult to be light and amusing during their late afternoon game of Trivial Pursuit. David had bought them the children's edition, and they switched back and forth from the children's to the adults'. Chelsea and Taylor were partners against the
men.

Taylor
, it turned out, was fantastic with the entertainment questions,
Chelsea
's inevitable
Waterloo
. They won, leading to the men's grousing and complaining about hard questions and general unluckiness with the dice.

"You're pretty smart,"
Taylor
said as they prepared to leave that evening.

"That sounds like a judgment call,"
Chelsea
said, ruffling
Taylor
's hair. "And oh, so true. You ain't bad yourself, kiddo."

"Mark said you and Dad were kissing again in the kitchen."

"Yes, your father is a very nice and kissable man."

"Mark also said Dad was holding your bottom again."

"That's possible, I guess."

"Are you going to marry my father?"

"That, Taylor, is a question I have no answer to, or to which I have no answer. Interesting syntax. Hmm. And actually, I haven't the foggiest notion! Now you don't need that
Boston
coat or those ghastly boots. Just your sweater. The weather person said sun tomorrow. You want to go sailing?"

Marry David,
Chelsea
thought some thirty minutes later as she sat alone on her sofa, staring at the blank TV screen. Chelsea Lattimer Winter. CLW. Stop it, idiot! Just because you want to attack him physically every time you're around him—well, maybe that will go away. Most likely it will go away. Or hang around, like fungus or mold.

I am not a slice of bread!

"Oh, this is ridiculous!"
Chelsea
said, and went to bed.

She picked up one of Laura Parker's novels,
Rose of the Mists,
and reread it until
three o'clock
in the morning.

They made it to the sailboat, got the lunch stowed below and the sails ready to raise, when David's beeper went off.