Last Christmas (Private 0.60)

As he guided her through the dark hallway, he softly hummed the James Bond theme song in Ariana's ear.

The reverberations of his

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voice sent pleasant shivers down her neck and over her shoulders, and somehow, she started to relax. She was

in good hands. Thomas's hands.

"Stairs!" he sang.

Ariana smiled in spite of herself. Together they started down the stairs, Thomas's grip on her shoulders

tightening to keep her from falling if she missed a step. But Ariana was nothing if not meticulous. She noted

exactly how her feet were supposed to fall to keep her on track, making sure she stepped exactly the right

distance each time.

"Here we are." Ariana heard him fumbling with a lock, then heard the slow creak of an opening door. He

rested his hand on the small of her back. "Go ahead."

The whole blindfold game had been totally pointless. Billings was a small house, and Ariana knew exactly

where they were.

"Thomas. You didn't," she said, yanking the tank top from over her eyes.

"What?" Thomas asked, smiling triumphantly. "You don't like?"

Ariana looked around the small, neat living area. A love seat littered with embroidered pillows sat

perpendicular to the doorway, flanked on either side by mahogany side tables. A brown wing chair, matching

ottoman, and low coffee table piled with neatly arranged books-Miss Manners' Guide to Domestic

Tranquility and The Little Book of Etiquette-were the only other pieces of furniture that could fit in the

room. Every surface in sight was covered with crocheted lace doilies, and half the throw pillows featured

Siamese cats.

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She tossed Noelle's tank top over an ugly needlepoint pillow stitched with the words what part of "meow"

don't you understand?

"Mrs. Lattimer is going to murder us," she said. The Billings housemother was notoriously private about her

apartment. Before today, Ariana had only caught the briefest glimpses inside it, and only when she happened

to be walking by as Mrs. Lattimer was stepping in or out.

"Only if she finds out we were here," Thomas replied. He swiped a doily from the back of the couch and

draped it over his arm. "Welcome to Chez Lattimer, Billings House's fine dining experience."