Christmas In High Heels by Gemma Halliday Page A

our first Christmas Eve together with just a nice, romantic, quiet evening at home.”
    “I never promised to be quiet,” Ramirez teased, grabbing my butt as he walked past with the ladder.
    I gave him a playful swat.
    “All right,” Mom said with a long-suffering sigh that only those who have given birth can master. “Spend the evening at home. You can catch up with us at Midnight Mass with your grandmother.”
    “Um, actually…”
    “Don’t say it, Maddie,” Mom warned.
    “Well, I kinda…”
    “If you love me at all, don’t tell me you’re not going to Midnight Mass with your grandmother.”
    I bit my lip. “Okay. I won’t say it.”
    Expectant silence hung on the other end.
    “Maddie, how could you!” Mom screeched.
    I pulled the phone away from my ear.
    “I’m sorry?” I said. Though it came out more as a question.
    “Your grandmother is Irish Catholic. Your grandmother lives for the church. Christmas Eve is maybe the most important day in the church. I just know you would not make you own mother, who loved you through every scraped knee and over-pierced adolescent boyfriend, tell your grandmother that you’re not coming to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve because you’re having a quiet evening at home!”
    I bit my lip again. Then said, “No, I wouldn’t.”
    Mom let out a sigh.
    Then I added. “Make Faux Dad do it.”
    “Maddie…” she warned.
    “Loveyou,MerryChristmas,you’rethebest,” I slurred together and quickly hung up the phone.
    Then dropped it in my purse again as if it were a time bomb waiting to go off.
    Yes, I know it was mean to leave Mom alone with Grandma. But I was pretty sure that I had years of dealing with my own mother’s eccentricities left, so it was only right to let her do her time with hers.
    “Did she blow up?” Ramirez came up behind me, wrapping both arms around my middle.
    “Like a hurricane on a trailer park.”
    “She’ll get over it.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe she’ll poison the cranberry sauce tomorrow night.”
    “Still worth it,” he mumbled, his lips nuzzling against my neck. His hands slid down to frame my hips, his mouth nibbling just at my pulse.
    I sighed. Yes. Yes, it was.
    “Hey,” I said. “I got you a present. Wanna open it?”
    “Now?” His hands moved upward, cupping my bra, as his lips gave way to teeth, doing tiny little nips along my throat.
    I giggled. “Yes, now. Trust me, you’re going to like it.”
    I wriggled away, grabbing a bright green package from beneath our little Christmas tree in the corner. And, I was pleased to notice as I settled onto the sofa with it, Ramirez had a box of his own in his hands.
    “Is that for me?” I asked, looking at the red, candy-cane striped paper.
    He nodded. “Uh huh. Here, you open first.”
    I wasn’t a girl who had to be told twice.
    I took the box and shook it. “What is it? Jewelry? Candy? Shoes?”
    His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Open it.”
    I tore into the paper with gusto, ripping the red wrapping off to reveal a plain white box beneath. I lifted the lid, pushing aside some very pretty pink tissue paper, and came out with…
    “What is this?” I asked.
    I held up a scrap (and I do mean scrap ) of bright red fabric.
    “Lingerie.” Ramirez grinned at me, obviously pleased with himself.
    Me - I frowned, holding the red lace up to my torso. “A lace teddy?”
    He nodded, the grin growing.
    I dropped the fabric back into the box. “You got me lingerie for Christmas?”
    His grin faltered. “Yeah…”
    “That is a terrible present to give your girlfriend.”
    “Why?”
    “Because, it’s not for me , it’s for you !”
    He gave me a blank look.
    “You do realize that we girls don’t go prancing around the house in little lace teddies when we’re home all alone, right?”
    Ramirez’s wicked grin returned. “You’d look pretty damned cute prancing around in that,” he said.
    I gave him a playful swat on the arm. “You are so bad.”
    “Yeah, but you love me