A Fairytale Christmas Read Free Page B

Thorleifsson sculpture in the foyer. What was it about her, she wondered, that made her a virtual magnet for boring, self-seeking men? And catty, competitive women? Couldn’t she, for God’s sake, just have a friend?
    She saw no likely candidate in the room. Derek and Brad from the city room kept looking at her with gazesof hopeful lust—not quite the sentiment she wanted to inspire in men.
    She glanced longingly at the door. Her feet moved toward it without volition. Her thoughts were focused on the small red car made by an Italian manufacturer with an unpronounceable name. It was in the garage, gassed up and gleaming. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much champagne and ditched her contacts for the night, because she really wanted to get in the car and just drive. Fast and far. Until she came to a place where the name Madeleine Langston meant nothing.
    She wanted to do something wild and totally out of character. To lose control, for once in her life. Or even more intriguing, to surrender control to someone else, someone she could trust. Someone who would sweep her off her feet.
    I wish
, she thought.
I wish …
She closed her eyes and tried to will away the yearning, but she couldn’t. She knew such things didn’t happen in real life, but still …
    Her hand closed around the doorknob. She was surprised to feel it turn from without, and she stepped back, marshaling her excuses.
Too glad to see you, darling, but I simply must run
, she rehearsed silently.
We’ll do lunch.…
    The door opened.
    The excuses died in Madeleine’s throat. She stepped back and stared, suddenly certain beyond any doubt that she had died and gone to heaven.
    He stood well over six feet tall, even after he removed his black Stetson to reveal a wealth of glossy dark hair. “Hi, darlin’,” he said easily, handing her a familiar card. “This got me past the doorman. Will it get me past you?”
    “Not if I can help it,” Madeleine murmured beforeshe could stop herself. Her awed gaze took in his beautifully groomed hair. Candlelight created russet highlights in the waves that spilled over the starched collar of his snowy shirt and sleekly cut jacket. The garment made a dark, enticing sculpture of his broad shoulders. He wore it open to reveal Florentine buttons down the minutely pleated front of his shirt and black dress slacks that hugged his narrow waist and hips. The toes of his black cowboy boots were narrow enough to stomp a roach in a corner of the Flatiron Building.
    Studying his rugged, freshly shaven face, she felt a flicker of recognition. On the one hand, he looked startlingly familiar. Yet on the other hand, when he gave her a lazy, long-lipped smile, she was certain she had never seen that face before—except in the most pleasant of dreams.
    “Darlin’,” he said, “if we stand here much longer, somebody’s going to hang a hat on one of us.”
    “Of course,” she said, stepping back and setting his invitation on the hall table. “Come in, Mr….”
    “Uh, Patrick. John … Patrick. But call me John, Miss …”
    “Madeleine,” she said quickly. But she liked it better when he called her “darlin’.”
    “Dance with me, darlin’.” He put his hat on the table.
    The swing band was playing a languorous tune from the forties. The bluesy strains invaded her, making it almost impossible not to sway. Feeling suddenly breezy, as if all the bubbles in the champagne she’d drunk had taken flight, Madeleine put her hand in his and let him sweep her into heaven.
    * * *
    To his utter amazement, Jack Riley found himself in the middle of a parquet floor, swaying slowly to a haunting,old-fashioned melody, with Madeleine Langston in his arms.
    His senses hummed in disbelief. Either she was part of the game or she honestly didn’t recognize him. Could Harry Fodgother’s magic have changed him so much?
    Catching a glimpse of himself in an antique mirror, he began to think it was possible. The horn-rims were gone. The upscale tux