OMEHOW, COREY MANAGED TO MAINTAIN THE FACADE OF wanting only a platonic friendship with him until she was sixteen. Until then she’d kept a tight rein on herself, partly because she was terrified of overwhelming him with her ardor and losing him completely, and partly because she hadn’t found a risk-free opportunity to show him that she was old enough and more than ready for a romantic relationship with him.

Fate handed her that opportunity the week before Christmas. Spence had come over to the house to deliver an armload of Christmas gifts from his grandmother to each of the Fosters, but for Corey there was a special gift forh him to her. He stayed for dinner and then for two games of chess with her grandfather. Corey waited until afterward, when the family had gone upstairs, then she insisted he wait while she opened his gift to her. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she spread the tissue in the big box aside and lifted out a large beautifully bound book of photographs by five of the world’s leading photographers. “It’s beautiful, Spence!” she breathed, “Thank you so much! I’ll treassure it always.”

She knew he was on his way to a Christmas party being given by some friends of his, but as she ushered him across the foyer in hre new high heels, long plaid skirt, white silk blouse, and wine –colored velvet blazer, she had never felt more confident and mature. Because she’d known he was coming that night, she’d put her hair up into a chignon, with tendrils at her ears, because the style made her look older, and because Diana and she agreed it made her blue eyes look bigger.

“Merry Christmas, Corey,” he said in the foyer as he turned to leave. Corey acted on sheer impulse because if she’d thought about it, she’d never have had the nerve. The house was decorated for the Christmas season in pine boughs and holly – and hanging from the crystal chandelier above the foyer was a giant bunch of mistletoe tied with red and gold ribbon. “Spence,” she burst out, “don’t you know it’s bad luck not to honor the Christmas traditions of your friends when you’re in their home?”

He turned, his hand already on the front door handle. “It is?”

Corey nodded slowly, her fingers clasped behind her back in a pose of nervous expectation.

“What tradition am I violating?”

In answer, she tipped her head back and looked meaningfully at the mistletoe overhead, “That one,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. He looked up at the mistletoe, then down at her, and his expression was so dubious and hesitant that Corey abruptly lost much of her nerve.

“Of course,” she fabricated hastily, “the tradition doesn’t require you to kiss me. You can kiss anyone who lives in the house.” Trying to turn it into a joke, she continued. “You can kiss a maid. Or Conchita. Or our cat. My dog…”

He laughed then and took his hand off the doorknob, but instead of leaning forward and kissing her cheek, which was about all she’d let herself hope he’d do, he hesitated, looking at her. “Are you sure you’re old enough for me to do this?”

Corey got lost in those tawny eyes, mesmerized by something she saw flickering in their depths. Yes, she told him silently, beckoning him to kiss her. I know I’m old enough. I’ve been waiting forever. She knew the answers were in her eyes, and she knew he saw them, and so she smiled a little, and with her hands still clasped behind her back, Corey softly and deliberately said, “No.” it was an instinctive piece of highly effective flirtation, and just as instinctively he recognized it… and succumbed.

With a husky, startled laugh, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipped her head back, and brushed his lips slowly back and forth across hers… just once. It took only a moment for the kiss, but it was another, longer, moment before he took his hand from her chin and an even longer one before Corey opened her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Duchess,” he said softly.

Corey felt the blast of icy air as he opened the door. When it closed behind him, she reached out automatically and switched off the foyer lights; then she stood there in the dark, reeling from the tenderness she’d heard in his voice after the kiss. For two years, she had fantasized about Spencer Addison, but not even in her fantasies had she ever imagined that his voice could be as stirring and as tender as a kiss.