This Holiday Magic. Celeste O. NorfleetЧитать онлайн книгу.
yeah. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You look a little distracted.”
“No, I’m good,” Tyson said, picking up his pen and turning back to the monitor. He didn’t want to tell Ben the truth, that he’d been thinking about Janelle. “I’m just a little tired.”
“I can certainly understand that. You work all day at your business and then you come here in the evenings and work on my mine. You’ve been a godsend. I really don’t know how to thank you.”
“How about getting us a cup of coffee?” Tyson suggested.
“Done,” Ben responded, hurrying to the door. “I’ll make a fresh pot. Cream and two sugars. I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.”
Tyson looked at the computer monitor. He was right back where he’d started; nowhere. Moments later he tossed the pen onto the desk and sat back in the chair. Coffee was a ruse. He’d just needed Ben out of the office.
Restless, edgy, he stood and walked over to the window again. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Hearing her voice had brought it all back.
“Damn,” he whispered. This wasn’t what he’d expected. But in truth, he didn’t know what he had thought would happen. When he’d agreed to review Ben’s finances and help pull him out of bankruptcy, he had been thinking only about getting Janelle back. It had been a long shot and probably wouldn’t work, but he’d try.
He looked up at the night sky. He was tired. But that was not what was distracting him and he knew it. She was his own personal drug—just one spark was all it took to reignite his passion. “Janelle,” he said softly, moving back to the desk to force himself to focus on the job.
The knock on the office door was soft. He didn’t look up, assuming it was Ben coming back with the coffee. It wasn’t until he heard her voice and her gasp that he looked up and saw her standing there. His eyes widened; then, just as quickly, a wave of emotional relief washed through him. She was back, she was safe and she was here with him again.
“Dad! Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas. Surprise!” Janelle called out as she opened the door to her father’s office.
She stopped, stunned, and shook her head. She could not believe what she was seeing. Her heart lurched. This was impossible. A small gasp escaped her lips.
As he looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, holding her still. He appeared just as stunned and confused as she was. She stood there for what seemed like forever, her questioning eyes cemented to a face she hadn’t seen in more than two years.
He was still as handsome as ever. Surprisingly, he was clean-shaven now, without the always perfectly cut goatee he’d had years ago. He was casually attired, having removed his jacket, but even so, he was still perfectly styled. Impressively tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he wore a dark dress shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, with a loosened tie. His sleeves were rolled up, baring the strong solid strength of his arms.
Seeing Tyson Croft sitting at her father’s desk was like pouring salt into a healing wound. For her own sake, she had long ago released the anger and the pain she had felt when he’d left. She had moved on, was over him and had never been happier with her life than she was now.
But now, for some reason, a sudden rush of emotion she’d long ago set aside began to envelop her. The hurt was still there. Janelle realized that she had never quite sealed that door. She watched as his gaze eased down her body, then came up and steadied on her face.
“Janelle,” he whispered softly.
The eerie misplaced feeling of seeing something or someone who didn’t belong in a familiar location stunned her to silence. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the impossibly huge lump in her throat. How was this possible? How could the last man on earth she ever wanted to see again be sitting there, staring straight at her?
Then it hit her. The diagnosis was obvious. Among the plethora of symptoms for extreme exhaustion and jet lag was hallucinations. That had to be it. She smiled at the absurdity of her mind’s twisted sense of humor. She had been thinking about Tyson a lot lately and her subconscious had tuned in, so of course, here he was.
Then the fabricated image slowly stood. “Hello, Janelle,” it said, smiling cautiously.
Wow. This specter was amazing. It seemed so real, so much like Tyson, who was exactly the same as she remembered...same deep soul-stirring voice, same knee-buckling smile and same drop-dead-gorgeous body.
She gazed at the face she knew so well. He was still handsome with keen angular lines and dark sexy bedroom eyes framed with long curly lashes. High cheekbones added to his classic features and his mouth was bowed just right with perfect fullness, his lips soft, firm and always so damn kissable. He was a confident man who had wealth and power. In all respects he was everything any woman could ever want and then some. She shook her head again. Even when he appeared as an illusion, the lean perfection of his body made her stomach flutter. She stared, unable to look away. Why did this vision have to be of him? She watched as his lips moved.
Then he smiled and suddenly everything seemed all too real. A few seconds passed. It really was Tyson Croft standing there.
“Janelle, you’re here,” he said happily. “You...you look—”
“Tyson,” she said quietly, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said softly. “God, it’s so good to see you. Your father and I were so worried about you.” He paused. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
Speechless, she nodded her head slowly.
“Good. Well, welcome home. You look exhausted.”
Fate has a wicked sense of humor, Janelle thought to herself. It had taken her two years to get over the anger and pain of not having him in her life. Now here he was all over again. “What are you doing in my father’s office?” she asked, looking around the room. “Where is my father?”
“Ben stepped out. He’ll be back in a few minutes.” He smiled, concern still shadowing his face. “Janelle, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you. When you called earlier, we were...” He paused. “I’m just glad you’re home safe,” he said, staring at her. “Are you going to scowl at me all night?”
“Probably. Answer my question, Tyson. What are you doing here?”
He looked down. “I’m working.”
She scoffed. “What do you mean? My father would never agree to have you working here.”
“I am. I’m working with your father.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s impossible.” She boldly moved to the center of the room.
“Nonetheless, here I am,” he said, gesturing around the office. “Your father said you were still in Africa. When did you get back?” Tyson talked as though nothing had ever happened between them, as if he had never walked out on her and their life together. He came from behind the desk toward her, talking, but she didn’t hear what he said.
She looked at him, astonished. The audacity of his presumption was mind-boggling. But that was typical Tyson—totally arrogant and completely self-absorbed. The world revolved solely around him. How dare he presume he had the right to comment on her looks, on her life, as though what had happened between them had never happened?
“No. No,” she said, seething with anger and holding her hand up to silence him. “You don’t get to just come up in here and chat with me like there’s nothing between us.”
His expression instantly changed. “Janelle, I know you’re probably still angry and upset, and you have every right to