Page 178 of Serving the Mogul

Swallowing a laugh at his faux irritation, I asked, “Just what have I thrown at you now?”

He shoved backward and sat cross-legged. “You made me goChristmasshopping, Tina. You dragged me out of the house and took me to the mall—the week of Christmas, the busiest time, I might add.”

“Oh, no…” Holding up a hand, I shook my head. “You’ve only got yourself to blame for that one, pal. I told you I’d take care of it but you insisted.”

“That’s not how it works.” Color flushing his cheeks, he looked away. “You told me your niece and nephew picked out presents for me. That means I had to do the same. It’s only fair.”

Fair. He’d made that comment a couple of times and when I finally asked him about it, he’d admitted it was a thing he’d learned from his mom. She’d told him, if you were going to give somebody a gift, you needed to be the one to buy the gift. It didn’t matter how big or small the gift was, either. Picking it out yourself was as important as the gift.

He told me that for years he’d all but ignored Christmas. He said that although the relationship with his dad eventually improved, he never really got into the holidays.

This year was different.

We chose to have a living Christmas tree because his mom liked the idea of planting the tree after Christmas, although she couldn’t afford a living tree. So this year, we’d picked a gorgeous one, so big it barely fit in the house.

After the holidays, it would be planted in James’ yard, a memory from our holiday together.

We had to buy ornaments because James had never put up a Christmas tree and my decorations were lost in the fire.

We’d made cookies and drank eggnog and made a general mess before getting everything sorted. James had told me about the Christmas he’d done chores for neighbors to earn money to buy his mom an angel pendant. I told him about the year I’d come downstairs to find a real rifle under the tree—my mom wasn’t amused, but it was one of my favorite gifts.

I swirled my wine in the glass and looked at the table near the wall, laden with gifts for my niece and nephew, my parents and sister. The gifts for his family were loaded into the SUV in the garage to save us the trips—multiple trips because there were a ton of presents. He’d told me he might cause a couple of heart attacks, showing up with presents this year.

He’d also warned me it might be late—verylate before we could escape his father’s house.

That was why we’d decided to open our gifts to each other tonight.

Spying the glint in his eyes, I tipped my wineglass to my lips and emptied it.

“You know, Iamkind of tired.” I studied the wrapped boxes under the tree. “Maybe we should call it quits for the night. If we don’t have time to open them tomorrow—”

“Not so fast.” He gripped my ankle as I went to stand. With a light squeeze, he added, “Sit.”

Stifling a laugh, I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

The second my ass was on the chair, he pushed a present into my hands. “Open.”

“You pick out one first.”

He rolled his eyes.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I leveled him with my gaze. “Do it.”

He grumbled but agreed, selecting a brightly colored box. Once he had it in his lap, I grinned and said, “Now we can open them.”

Wrapping paper went flying.

I laughed, giddy happiness filling me as I tore open the heavy box. Gasping in delight, I admired the framed prints of the Biscayne Hotel, professional photographs I hadn’t seen before, all matching the ones I had in my office. “These are gorgeous!”

He was quiet, but when I looked at his face, his features were stark with naked emotion. He held a picture of the two of us dancing. I’d asked the hostess at the Black Star to have a few taken without his knowledge.

He felt my gaze and looked up to meet my eyes. The love I saw staring back at me made my chest tight. I wanted to go to him and kiss him, but if I did, I’d forget about the gifts and everything but him.

So I slid to the carpet and reached for another gift.

* * *

“You forgot one.”

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