The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas

She held out her hands, dramatically waving them over the crystal ball positioned in the middle of the table. A spotlight shone on it from above. As she moved her hands in a series of sweeping motions, the spotlight became brighter, making the ball glow.

“I see water,” said Luminitsa. “Maybe a beach. It could be the ocean.”

“We’re going to California,” said Kristy.

Jack shot her a censorious look. The least she could do was make it slightly harder for the con artist.

The woman shook her head. “No.”

“We’re not?”

“Not today.”

“Tomorrow,” said Kristy.

“Maybe,” said the woman. She eyed Jack, then Kristy, then turned her attention to the ball.

The spotlight had gradually turned yellow, then orange, making the ball seem to have a life of its own.

The gypsy suddenly sat back. “There was a plane crash.”

Kristy shot Jack a look of astonishment.

He remained unimpressed. Everybody knew something about a plane crash somewhere.

“No. Not a crash,” said the woman. “But something…”

Kristy opened her mouth, but Jack grabbed her knee and squeezed.

She turned to give him an impish grin.

“What about the future?” he asked. “Kristy’s future.” The sooner they got to that, the sooner this would be over.

Luminitsa screwed up her wrinkled face, peering intently into the ball that was now bright red.

She jumped up. “Oh.”

“What?” asked Kristy.

Luminitsa glanced from one to the other, a sly smile forming on her face. “Congratulations.”

Jack and Kristy’s gazes met.

Kristy mouthed the wordtwins, and Jack rolled his eyes.

He turned back to Luminitsa. “Congratulations on what?”

“On your wedding,” she said.

Jack’s entire body went still. Was there something in his eyes? Something about his posture?

“Wedding?” asked Kristy.

“Today’s your wedding day.”

“Which one of us?” asked Kristy.

“Both.” She waggled her wrinkled finger back and forth between them.

Kristy’s mouth dropped open. “Toeach other? ”

Luminitsa nodded.

Jack grabbed Kristy by the hand. “That’s it,” he announced decisively, tugging her out of her chair and turning her to the exit.

The bells jangled again as they left.

“That was weird,” said Kristy.

“We’re in Vegas,” he responded. “How many just-been-married or about-to-be-married couples do you suppose she sees every day?”

“I guess,” said Kristy. “But that was weird.”

For Jack, it wasn’t so much weird as it was damned annoying. Luminitsa had just thrown a wrench in his carefully laid plans.

Kristy swayed to the music of Yellow Silk, the jazz band playing in the Windward Lounge, as she rested her head against Jack’s broad chest. She was trying to pretend that she didn’t care that these were their last few hours together. Simon had promised the plane would be ready by ten, and they’d be in L.A. an hour after that. She was wearing the lacy black party dress Jack had secretly purchased at Addias Comte, along with the diamond necklace and earring set, and she couldn’t help feeling like Cinderella.

Too bad the clock was about to strike midnight.

She knew she should be happy. Tomorrow morning she’d meet with Cleveland and the Sierra Sanchez buying team, and career-wise, she might just live happily ever after. Because if everything went her way, her life would turn on a dime. What she had dreamed of for years was suddenly within her grasp.

But melancholy overtook the joy in her heart. This was the end of such a beautiful fantasy.

The tempo slowed, and Jack gathered her close. She could feel the beat of his heart thudding rhythmically against her chest. His scent had become familiar. At some point, she’d started associating it with peace and safety, and she certainly felt that way now.

The fabric of the lacy black dress whispered against her legs. It clung to her breasts, nipped in at her waist, then flowed gently to midthigh. A Jacynthe Norman, from the winter collection in Paris, she knew it had to have cost Jack a fortune.

She’d have to leave it with him, along with the diamonds.

She wondered briefly if she’d ever see him again. If she was a supplier to the Osland Corporation, maybe they’d have a chance—

Then she stopped that thought in its tracks.

They’d spent a stolen weekend together. It was never going to be anything more than that. Their real lives were about as far apart as two people could get. He lived with the ultrarich in L.A. She lived with the struggling class in New York. Even if she did make a sale to Sierra Sanchez, they’d hardly be moving in the same social circles.