Snowflake Kisses (4 page)

His eyes never strayed from the high-res screen. Jackson sank slowly onto his chair, knocked backward by the compassion and tenderness he witnessed in Vanessa's eyes.

Vanessa didn't appear to be threatened or ill at ease. Rather, she took hold of the woman's arm, leading the way to a cashier's station in the food hall. While they waited in a short line, Jackson watched Vanessa reach into her purse, and he fought an instinctive cringe, thinking,
Don't do it, Vanessa. Don't take it on. You know nothing about this person…do you?

Too late—and mental telepathy wasn't a realistic expectation to begin with. Warm vibrations stirred Jackson's lips to twitch upward while on screen Vanessa extracted what looked like a small stash of pound notes from her purse. She folded them neatly and tucked them into the other woman's hand. Next, she claimed the lady's food items and paid for those as well. Vanessa's sparkling eyes, her beauty, sent Jackson's world spinning into a ripe, elongated stillness.

There would be no need to freeze frame that electronic image in order to absorb the power of her presence. Her strength of spirit, her vitality filled him at once, by turns enticing and abrasive. He didn't want or need this kind of emotional distraction. Wasn't avoidance of all things romantic and heart-related precisely why he had embraced the London project to begin with?

Absolutely.

Freshly resolved, Jackson broke free of the surveillance screens and forced himself back on task. An instant later, allure burned off on a roll of infrastructure diagraming and bandwidth design.

Just the way he wanted.

 

****

 

“Tomorrow's Saturday. You can't possibly be working on Saturday. Not even for my wicked and ruthless brother.”

The low vibration of Jackson's chuckle tickled Vanessa's ear and made her tummy flutter. She wanted to catch his eye because she loved the way it felt to draw his attention. She propped a hip against his desk; his temporary home while executing the Harrods job was the ground floor security center. When he looked away from his computer monitor, he offered a grin that left her knees weak. Something mysterious and unexpected continued to move through her.

“I'm not working tomorrow. Actually, I intended to catch up on some sleep. Your so-called wicked and ruthless brother failed to mention what a spinning vortex I'd enter when visiting London.”

Vanessa tilted her head and folded her hands against the crisp linen of her black skirt. She had taken extra care dressing this morning, pairing long, chunky silver necklaces beneath the collar line of a pink silk shirt. “Which is precisely why I'm at your service. You don't need sleep; you need time away from the job. You need to have fun, relax, and enjoy the city. I happen to be a wonderful London tour guide. Have I mentioned?”

“No, but that fact doesn't surprise me in the least.” Jackson stretched back in his rolling chair. “I'm also not surprised by the fact that just a few hours ago you paid for groceries for a destitute woman, and handed her a stash of your own money as well.”

“W…wh…” Vanessa's eyes went wide and she sputtered. “How did you—?”

“Your expression is priceless. Tell me, honestly, how often are you caught by surprise?”

“Not very.” She perched fully on the corner of his desk and crossed her legs neatly. She was most definitely on an unapologetic mission of enticement. “Tell me, honestly, were you spying, Mr. Merritt?”

Her pleased retort had Jackson responding with a lengthy and extensive survey that Vanessa felt from the crown of her head to the tips of her leather pumps. “Can you blame me, Miss Colby?”

The brush of butterfly wings against her arms and legs enlivened Vanessa's senses. A fast rising wave of attraction swept through her body. Breathing deep didn't help, for she came upon the subtle woodsy trace of his cologne along with something else—something indefinable in his aura that continued to pull at her relentlessly.

Jackson twitched the pen he held, directing her attention toward the bank of view screens. “You caught my eye when you swept through the food hall.”

“Did I, now?” Vanessa tilted her head to check out the monitors. She noticed the way his gaze caught and held as her hair slid against her shoulders. Feminine delight built and flowed. Growing out her hair? Definitely a good idea.

“Don't be smug, now.” The words were a tease. He tapped the pen restlessly against his palm. “You were…you
are
...a vision.”

Vanessa absorbed the compliment, taking in the direct, penetrating eyes that had haunted her from the first moment she had seen him. His smoke and satin smile left one word reverberating through her head. Compelling.

She regained herself as quickly and smoothly as possible given the sweep of tingles. “You caught me. I admit it. That was Cordellia. Cordellia is a bit of a fixture for me. Every once in a while, when things run tight for her and her baby boy, Richie, she finds me, and I help her out as I can.”

“How on earth did that begin?”

“One morning, just less than a year ago, I was on my way to work when I spotted Cordellia basically cowering on a street corner not far from the store. I passed by. She was so shattered and timid, but she found it within herself to ask for help.”

“And you offered an assist?”

“Absolutely.” For Vanessa, the action was simple and direct. A straightforward offering. Nothing more, nothing less. “I give her tremendous credit because she reached out.”

“Weren't you afraid of being taken advantage of?”

Vanessa's attitude sharpened. “If she tried, she'd fail.”

Jackson lifted his chin in visible surprise but he then delivered a respectful nod of acceptance.

“I had paused, and watched. I was taken in by the sight of a soul in need. I took enough time to recognize her very real sense of desperation. Since I was able, I dropped my business card and a few pounds into her hand. She wrote me a thank you note. She hand delivered it to the store manager. I treasure her words, and have that card to this day.”

Jackson listened intently. Vanessa could have sworn a sense of respect layered his mood and reaction to the story. “But she keeps coming back?”

“We touch base every once in a while. She tries hard. She does her very best, and for the most part she's succeeded in moving past being destitute. She humbles herself enough to ask for help from someone she feels won't judge, sneer or shove her life aside—her words, not mine. What she was telling me today is that she's lined up a job as a clerk at a perfume boutique not far from here. To celebrate, and to honor the season of Christmas, I wanted to help her get some decent clothes and see her way through to a first paycheck. That's all.”

Silence filled the room in a swirl. “You're amazing.”

“I don't see it that way. I have means. Within sound reason, why not help her land on her feet?”

That's when the shutters fell across his eyes—much the same way as when he had come to her rescue after the attempted mugging. Vanessa was going to call him out on the reaction until he straightened and leaned his elbows on the armrests of his chair.

“So—I believe you proposed an outing. Where exactly do you intend to take me?”

Questions and conjecture vanished in a pulse beat. She could feel her body, her face, light with pleasure. “We should definitely go to Kellinger's restaurant for lunch or dinner; there's a window view of Big Ben and Parliament that's absolutely spectacular.” Eager as could be, Vanessa launched right into an itinerary. “After that, I'd suggest a city stroll ending along Westminster Bridge, because truly, that's the height of lovely. However, no matter what, I refuse to let you leave the UK until you've experienced Evensong at Westminster Abbey.”

“Evensong?”

The name alone filled her chest with warmth, her heart with expectation. “Evensong is a form of evening prayer that's sung. It's absolutely beautiful.”

“You're a Christian.”

“I am. And you?”

“I am. Was. Am. Yeah, I am.”

His stuttered response both startled and intrigued her. “What do you mean by—” Vanessa's intention to question him hit the skids when her mobile, which always seemed to be clutched in her hand, began to vibrate. Matters went to worse when she read the text from Mallory Kincaid, her boss. Vanessa was needed at The Penthouse, ASAP. Something about a socialite on the hunt for a designer gown with absolutely no time to spare. Translation? A typical kick-off to her day. “Blast. Work calls.”

Was she imagining things or did he seem a bit relieved by the interruption? For certain she would broach the topic at a later point. She lifted from her desktop perch and addressed him once more. “To be continued, yes? Are we on for Saturday?”

To Vanessa's delight, he delivered an agreeing nod. “How can I refuse the generosity of a native? I'm all yours. Show me Vanessa Colby's London.”

“Doing so will most definitely be my pleasure.”

His answer lifted her high. Acceptance was all she needed for the moment. Answers would come in time; she had no doubt of it.

 

 

 

 

4

 

Triumphal strains of music resounded from a pipe organ, filling the air of Westminster Abbey, sending a thrill down Jackson's spine. Centuries of history, centuries of God's heartbeat and motion wrapped around him in a cloak of warmth that warded off the descending chill of late afternoon. Words from the time honored hymn
Lord, Thou Hast Been Our Refuge
soared clear to the lofty arches and vibrated against grand columns and stained glass windows, which reflected every hue imaginable by the setting sun. For its next selection, the choir launched into
Hark a Herald Voice is Calling
which led to the evensong service dismissal.

People stood to leave, but Jackson was in no hurry to vacate this majestic time and place. This was such a fitting and wonderful end note to a day spent playing tourist—visiting London landmarks that included his favorite spot until now—the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Vanessa kept still as well, tucked against his side in a way that pleased him greatly, but also disrupted his peace of mind.

He leaned close. In a playful way—in a manner that masked the true depth of what he was coming to feel for Vanessa—he dotted the tip of her nose with a fingertip. Her answering smile, the way her gaze sealed to his, was precisely what he wanted—and dreaded—the most.

“I can't believe the way the temperature dropped.” He whispered the words and drew her snug, but trained his attention on the high altar straight ahead. “Do worshipers have to contend with this each Sunday in the winter?”

Vanessa nodded then rested her head against his shoulder. “There's no HVAC in a structure this old, love. When winter comes, we learn to…lean on one another.” In emphasis she beamed him a daring smile and moved all the closer, enhancing their connection and further chasing away the cold. Jackson opted to embrace a practical approach. These gestures between them were all about warmth and practical survival skills. Nothing more.

That internal lie stirred a wry grin. He rested his chin against the top of her head so he could simply give in to the moment and savor how good it felt to share an experience like this with a remarkable woman. Once again, their fit struck him as perfect.

God, forgive me for what nearly happened with Tamara. Please move me past the way I allowed her beauty and charm to deceive me and pull me into a set of emotions and circumstances that would have surely been my undoing. Certainly You know my heart. I realize You know I had no idea she was married, but if our relationship had intensified any further, I might have stumbled into a temptation I wouldn't be able to deny. I feel guilty, and wretched about how easily I was fooled.

But I did protect you, Jackson.

The Spirit response swept through him, and almost wiped away his disconcerted, anxious frame of mind. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how Vanessa would feel once she discovered the truth. How would she feel about a man who had been so gullible, so thwarted by his ready passion for a woman? A
married
woman at that...

He pushed noisy turmoil to the side, relaxing against the back of the pew. “Do you think we might be allowed a brief walk through?”

Vanessa fluttered her lashes, the coy and playful minx, and his pulse answered with a driving beat. “Let's find out, shall we?”

By mutual accord they lifted to a stand. Guided by impulse he took hold of her hand, wanting to stay connected. “Hmm. Why do I have sudden and horrific visions of bobbies and peelers coming after us?”

Her twinkling laughter further battered his defenses. “Bobbies and peelers—you're coming dangerously close to a full-on British conversion. I'm so very proud.”

They wandered the main aisle. “I can Internet search and pick up on local slang with the best of them. I'm a computer nerd, remember?”

She harrumphed. “A computer nerd? You call yourself that after the way you disarmed my attacker? Try again. You're more like a warrior. A prince.”

“Of a sort.”

He didn't mean for his tone to come off sounding so flat, so devoid of the zesty humor they currently shared. But, he didn't feel like a prince, and these days he didn't like the idea of his heart overruling his head.

For a second time.

 

****

 

“Vannie, consider your restaurant choice to be a major win. It's perfect.”

Not ashamed of gawking—he was an awestruck, first time visitor to Great Britain after all—Jackson craned his neck, taking in the atmosphere of Kellinger's. Vanessa's recommended eatery combined the best of his imaginings when it came to dining out in London. They had just been seated at a window-side table. Frosted glass ornaments in a hue of pale crème were etched by golden swirls and dangled from the ceiling. A tableside window framed the lit spires of Parliament and the towering grandeur of Big Ben, its clock face fully illumined against the dark sky. Through the window Jackson took in a new development—snowfall. Fat, swirling glitter flakes filled the night, dancing to the ground in a carpet of white that soon covered the streets and edged the tiny square window panes. Around them, the air simmered with tantalizing spices and food fragrance.