A Lot Like Christmas. Dawn Atkins

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СКАЧАТЬ a few streamers at the top of a mesquite tree, Sylvie braced a ladder against the trunk and climbed up to retrieve them.

      The damned paper was just out of reach. She stretched higher, but fell partly into the scratchy branches. Yikes. Her heart racing, she lifted a leg to balance herself.

      Thank God there was no one below her to get flashed.

      “Can I help?”

      The voice came from beneath her. Sylvie cringed, then twisted to see who might have glimpsed her panties.

      Chase McCann, Marshall’s older son and Sylvie’s first crush, grinned up at her from the bottom of the ladder. What the hell? The man did investment deals all over the U.S. and Europe and was rarely in town.

      “Chase? What are you doing here?”

      “Helping you, looks like.” Humor danced in his dark eyes, so he’d definitely seen. Damn.

      He braced the ladder, forcing her to climb down into his arms, while he looked her over, not the least apologetic that he’d perused her underwear.

      “You hurt yourself?” he asked, checking her out in that amused older brother way he’d always had with her.

      Except that one night.

      That one fizzled-out fire of a night.

      Her twenty-first birthday and she’d intended to lose her virginity to him until he figured out what she was doing and backed away as if she were contagious or radioactive or both.

      “Not at all. I’m perfectly fine.” The backs of her hands stung from scrapes and she’d snagged her jacket, but no way would she admit that.

      “You’ve got…leaves.” Chase reached over and tugged mesquite twigs from her curls.

      “Thanks.” She stepped back, needing distance from the man and to retrieve the tatters of her dignity.

      “You’re all dressed up.” He shaped his hands in a body curve, not sexual at all, but his golden-mocha eyes held her tight. He had a way of really looking, as if he knew her well and was damned glad about it. Chase was a charmer, for sure.

      He looked good in trendy jeans and a black microfiber shirt that molded itself to his chest. He clearly squeezed gym time into his jet-setting party schedule. Mary Beth kept Sylvie updated on his exploits through Fletcher.

      “I’ve got a meeting.” She looked at her watch. Uh-oh. She had to get upstairs.

      “I’ll get that.” He nodded up at the fluttering toilet paper she’d been unable to grab. “You can head in. Dad’s already there.”

      “He is? Damn. Thanks.” She spun on her heels and ran. She was halfway down the mall before she realized Chase had never answered her question: Why was he here?

      FROM THE TOP OF THE LADDER, Chase watched Sylvie take off, blond curls bouncing, backside firm in that tight skirt. Hardly any jiggle to it. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

      Distracted, he nearly took a tumble himself. Focus, bro.

      He grabbed the fluttering toilet paper and lowered himself to the ground.

      The stockings had been a surprise. He’d have pegged Sylvie as a bare-legs girl—practical, simple and easy.

      She did need help, Fletcher was right about that. Why the hell was she out here doing yard work in a suit?

      She seemed worried and looked exhausted, probably from juggling two demanding jobs.

      According to Fletcher, she was eager to join her boyfriend in Seattle, so Chase taking over the GM job would be a relief to her. Funny, but Sylvie didn’t strike him as someone who would arrange her life around a guy, but people changed, he guessed.

      She was still a wound-up coil of energy, for sure, with a spark in her green eyes and a plan cooking every second. She still had that steady serenity about her that he’d loved. She made him want to slow down and just pay attention.

      Even flustered, falling into a tree, flashing the world her underthings, she’d remained her solid self. Ah, Sylvie. He had to smile. She always made him smile.

      He needed it, too. Chase’s focus in Phoenix was getting his new project off the ground, but his father and brother were in a tug-of-war over the fate of the mall, and Fletcher had asked Chase to bring his dealmaker eye to the situation.

      If his family needed him, Chase was there, regardless of the personal land mines he’d have to dodge.

      Bailing Sylvie out was a nice bonus.

      Chase handed the ladder off to a worker and tossed the paper in the trash on his way into the mall.

      He stepped inside and was hit with sick dread, reminded instantly of the months he’d run the mall once his mother became too weak to make the drive. He’d been barely there, a ghost, going through the motions, his attention on his failing mother. The mall was her joy.

      It was named after her because she was the light of their father’s life—all their lives, really. Starr had smoothed Marshall’s rough edges and oiled the friction between the two brothers, building a decent family out of the four of them. After she died, they’d fallen apart, bumped heads, scraped words, grieving in their separate ways.

      If emotions ruled, they couldn’t sell this place fast enough to suit Chase. But he did business based on facts, not feelings. So Chase would gather the data, drill down to the bottom line, then lay out the case for either keeping the mall or selling it based on what he found.

      Which likely wouldn’t resolve the issue. Fletcher was as stubborn as their father, whom they called the General. Marshall would never sell away his wife’s dream while Fletcher was convinced that selling was the only way to go.

      Chase took the stairs to the mall offices, where his father stood in the doorway to the meeting, munching on a pastry, a china cup puny in his big hand.

      “You’re holding up the show, son,” he boomed, his voice as big as his presence. Marshall McCann took up a lot of space. He motioned Chase inside.

      Sylvie looked startled to see him. “You’re sitting in? Oh. Okay.” She bit her lower lip, a move Chase felt below the belt. Sylvie had the most kissable mouth he’d ever tasted, before or since that ill-advised night.

      “Grab him a chair, would you, hon?” his father said to Sylvie. “And some of this good coffee, too.”

      “That’s not her job,” Chase said, shooting Sylvie an apologetic look. “I can get my own coffee.” He helped himself to a scone while he was at it and pulled up a chair.

      Sylvie stood there looking stunned. What the hell?

      “You all right?” he asked her, munching on the pastry. God, it was delicious. Tangy and moist. Sunni Ganesh knew how to roll dough, for sure.

      “The team’s on the field, let’s put the play in motion,” his father said, rolling his hands like a referee.

      Good grief. The man had gone from gruff to sexist СКАЧАТЬ