Read Online A Highlander for Christmas by Debbie Macomber, Christina Skye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Debbie Macomber, Christina Skye
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don’t have reservations…”
Her cousin gave a smug smile. “As if Vincenzo would dream of seating me anywhere but the best spot.”
“What if there are reporters?”
“Vincenzo hires men to take care of things like that. Big, nasty men in specially cut Armani jackets.” She looked assessingly at Maggie. “Tomorrow we do clothes. I have a wonderful ensemble of hand-rolled French silk that will be perfect on you.”
“But I—”
Chessa raced into full gear, ticking off items on an imaginary list. “Half-slip, garters, and camisole. Then we add real silk stockings—the only kind to have, believe me. Men just adore it when you roll them off slowly. I’ll bet that man in the restaurant knows everything there is to know about silk stockings.” Her eyes darkened. “And the perfect way to take them off. Did you see how he looked at you?”
“What do you mean?”
Chessa snorted in disgust. “Of course you didn’t see. You never do.” She tapped her jaw. “Well, it wouldn’t bother me to find out more about him.” Her eyes gleamed for a moment, then refocused. “But back to business. “I’ll take care of the clothes. I suppose we can leave the jewelry to you.” She dodged the pillow Maggie flung through the air. “Just a joke, idiot. I wouldn’t dream of cramping your style when it comes to jewelry. There you’re an undisputed genius.” She frowned at her cousin’s tangled cinnamon curls. “But we have some serious work ahead of us with your hair.”
Maggie crossed her arms militantly. “Forget it, Chessa, I’m not cutting my hair. No way.”
Chessa didn’t even hear. “How long did you say we have?”
“Three weeks.”
“Miracles have happened in less, I suppose. I’ll say a few prayers.” She took Maggie’s arm in a firm grip. “On the way, we’ll stop at a little place I know on First Avenue. They have the most incredible handmade Italian shoes…”
Maggie gathered her most valuable gems and metals in a special aluminum carrying case, along with pliers and shears, in case inspiration struck in the night. Then she turned and surveyed the shadows. The room was dingy, no doubt about it. There were no bookcases. No flowers or comfortable chairs.
It was a place to work and nothing more. A place where she passed time twisting silver and spinning dreams, until she had a real workshop of her own full of glinting spirals and stars slanting across fine chains of hand twisted gold.
She put her last wedge of cheese down for the mouse.
“We’ll call Faith from my apartment and bring her up to speed. Then I want you to try on my new shantung sheath. It will fit you like a second skin. I think my gold sandals might work with it.”
Caught between smiles and exasperation, Maggie started to protest.
But suddenly there was magic in the air. Light played over the tiny Christmas tree and set the needles dancing. A lace angel dangled from its string beside a cat with a bright red Santa hat.
And this was her gift, Maggie thought, cradling her vellum envelope. Suddenly giddy, she felt the grains of one life sliding away while another life began. She had a jolt of pleasure, a kick of excitement. Where would it all end?
As she followed Chessa to the door, neither one saw the shadow slipping along her back fire escape.
CHAPTER FOUR
London
Three weeks later
Car horns screamed along Bond Street. Angels spread fluffy wings above cases bright with Christmas treasures. Men in wool hats sold roasted chestnuts from smoking metal stalls, and ornamented trees flashed in bright shop windows.
Maggie barely noticed.
The man was watching her again. Oh, he was careful about it. Discreet in that amazing way the English had. A flicker here, a short glance there.
She crossed the street, moving briskly, then stopped at a shop window. He was twenty feet behind her, speaking on a cell phone. And he was definitely watching her
Maggie surveyed the street. Two cafes. A bookstore and a jewelry shop. Her body
Her cousin gave a smug smile. “As if Vincenzo would dream of seating me anywhere but the best spot.”
“What if there are reporters?”
“Vincenzo hires men to take care of things like that. Big, nasty men in specially cut Armani jackets.” She looked assessingly at Maggie. “Tomorrow we do clothes. I have a wonderful ensemble of hand-rolled French silk that will be perfect on you.”
“But I—”
Chessa raced into full gear, ticking off items on an imaginary list. “Half-slip, garters, and camisole. Then we add real silk stockings—the only kind to have, believe me. Men just adore it when you roll them off slowly. I’ll bet that man in the restaurant knows everything there is to know about silk stockings.” Her eyes darkened. “And the perfect way to take them off. Did you see how he looked at you?”
“What do you mean?”
Chessa snorted in disgust. “Of course you didn’t see. You never do.” She tapped her jaw. “Well, it wouldn’t bother me to find out more about him.” Her eyes gleamed for a moment, then refocused. “But back to business. “I’ll take care of the clothes. I suppose we can leave the jewelry to you.” She dodged the pillow Maggie flung through the air. “Just a joke, idiot. I wouldn’t dream of cramping your style when it comes to jewelry. There you’re an undisputed genius.” She frowned at her cousin’s tangled cinnamon curls. “But we have some serious work ahead of us with your hair.”
Maggie crossed her arms militantly. “Forget it, Chessa, I’m not cutting my hair. No way.”
Chessa didn’t even hear. “How long did you say we have?”
“Three weeks.”
“Miracles have happened in less, I suppose. I’ll say a few prayers.” She took Maggie’s arm in a firm grip. “On the way, we’ll stop at a little place I know on First Avenue. They have the most incredible handmade Italian shoes…”
Maggie gathered her most valuable gems and metals in a special aluminum carrying case, along with pliers and shears, in case inspiration struck in the night. Then she turned and surveyed the shadows. The room was dingy, no doubt about it. There were no bookcases. No flowers or comfortable chairs.
It was a place to work and nothing more. A place where she passed time twisting silver and spinning dreams, until she had a real workshop of her own full of glinting spirals and stars slanting across fine chains of hand twisted gold.
She put her last wedge of cheese down for the mouse.
“We’ll call Faith from my apartment and bring her up to speed. Then I want you to try on my new shantung sheath. It will fit you like a second skin. I think my gold sandals might work with it.”
Caught between smiles and exasperation, Maggie started to protest.
But suddenly there was magic in the air. Light played over the tiny Christmas tree and set the needles dancing. A lace angel dangled from its string beside a cat with a bright red Santa hat.
And this was her gift, Maggie thought, cradling her vellum envelope. Suddenly giddy, she felt the grains of one life sliding away while another life began. She had a jolt of pleasure, a kick of excitement. Where would it all end?
As she followed Chessa to the door, neither one saw the shadow slipping along her back fire escape.
CHAPTER FOUR
London
Three weeks later
Car horns screamed along Bond Street. Angels spread fluffy wings above cases bright with Christmas treasures. Men in wool hats sold roasted chestnuts from smoking metal stalls, and ornamented trees flashed in bright shop windows.
Maggie barely noticed.
The man was watching her again. Oh, he was careful about it. Discreet in that amazing way the English had. A flicker here, a short glance there.
She crossed the street, moving briskly, then stopped at a shop window. He was twenty feet behind her, speaking on a cell phone. And he was definitely watching her
Maggie surveyed the street. Two cafes. A bookstore and a jewelry shop. Her body
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