Page 48 of His Spirit of Christmas

Or a ride on him?

The thought of making love with Brennan stuck in her mind, an ever-present unwanted pop-up ad for sex. Appearing at random moments. Luring her. Begging her to indulge.

“Here’s your ticket....” Temptation beckoned.

* * *

MALCOLMSATONthe flowery couch in the dressing lounge of the haute couture section of Henry’s watching Judy and her fairy godmother eyeball each other. Gigi Malone had been with Henry Department Stores for over thirty years and was the equivalent of Coco Chanel in New Orleans. She might not design the clothes, but she paired the classic with the unique and wore designs with panache. No one doubted Gigi’s eye. No one.

Not even stubborn Judy Poche, who had opened her mouth only once while Gigi tugged off the black sweater and glared at it as if it had been delivered from the back end of a dog before tossing it in the general direction of the gilded trash can in the corner of the lounge.

“Wait,” Judy said, grasping the air where the sweater had once been held. “That’s—”

“Darling,” Gigi drawled, touching a finger to her black Buddy Holly glasses, “do you see the man sitting on that divan?”

Judy swiveled her head toward him, and he arched an eyebrow at Gigi. She was really over-the-top.

“He’s Malcolm Henry, Jr., even if he’s wearing a blinking nose.”

“I know who he is,” Judy said, frowning at Gigi as if the woman had sprouted horns or frothed at the mouth. He couldn’t really tell if Judy thought Gigi was cracked or Satan himself.

“He does not squire about town with someone dressed in a habit unless it’s Halloween.”

Judy’s mouth fell open. “I don’t dress like a nun.”

Gigi merely arched a well-groomed eyebrow.

His sweet date looked at him for help, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or rush to her defense. So he did neither. He looked at Gigi and prayed she’d win over Judy.

“Not evident to these eyes, darling. Tonight you’re to attend a benefit with the elite of New Orleans. Let’s do you justice, darling,” Gigi said, running a practiced eye over the black cotton tank she’d revealed and the skirt that hung to Judy’s flats.

“Malcolm?” Based on her expression Judy appeared as though she might bolt…or punch Gigi.

“Judy, you’re a beautiful woman, and Gigi will bring all you are to the surface. I trust her implicitly, otherwise, I wouldn’t have torn her from her nightly cappuccino to dress you. Now, let her do her magic.”

Gigi clapped. “Well, done, Malcolm, and don’t think your sweet words will keep me from penciling in overtime on the timecard.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. Now, time is money, and we have a date with the dance floor.”

Gigi clapped her hands again and a young saleswoman appeared. “Fetch Mr. Henry a double scotch and then send for Beatrice at the Elizabeth Arden counter. Tell her to bring something suitable for a brunette. Also, tell Richard in Shoes to find strappy sandals in a size—” she looked at Judy’s feet “—six and a half.”

Malcolm nearly laughed as Judy’s eyes widened. She mouthed “wow,” and he didn’t think he could feel happier at that moment watching his longtime employee ply her trade and his wares on the woman who likely had not worn anything designer in years, if ever.

Before long, Judy appeared wearing a beautiful champagne-colored sheath that hugged curves he’d never known she had. Her shoulders were exposed, and, for a sixty-year-old woman, they were remarkably smooth and kissable. Her feet were bare, and she wore no makeup. The dress was gorgeous, but the masterpiece wore the dress.

“Tsk, tsk,” Gigi said, breezing into the room, her kitten heels clacking on the wood floor. “Metamorphosis not complete, darling.”

Judy slid her gaze to the small woman wearing black Lycra, a Hermès scarf in jade and puce with matching harlequin-patterned shoes. “I don’t want to look like a strumpet. Malcolm?”

“If I had strawberries, I’d dip them in you. You’re like fine champagne, sleek but with bite.”

Judy laughed. “Good gravy, I’m in trouble. Your words are like this dress—too good to be true…and a little naughty.” She turned around and showed him a plunging back that stopped only just above the curve of her hips.

“Definitely that dress,” he said, trying not to sound like a horny old sod.

Gigi clapped. “Back to the dressing area. Beatrice awaits and we must do something with this hair. I’ll fetch pins.”

The glance Judy threw him before disappearing around the corner was half desperate, half delighted.

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