The Grand Ballroom of the Sutton Place hotel sparkled, from the eye-dazzling, tear-drop crystals on the chandeliers to the jewels that hung from the necks and ears of most of the women.
Despite the fact that Sunny only wore rhinestones, not diamonds, some of those women were darting daggers of envy at her. She watched female heads turn to follow Peter as he made his way back to their table.

He carried something in his hands, exactly what she couldn't quite make out. Detective Peter Caine sure looked fine in his black tuxedo.
She stifled a giggle. Course, he'd looked damn fine in nothing but that Santa hat and hay, too. In his case, clothes did not make the man. The man made the clothes. Hence the green daggers piercing her. He strode confidently across the room until he was standing next to her, holding some sort of dessert concoction with a lit candle in the top.

At the same moment, she realized the band leader was calling for everyone's attention. Through the hiss of the PA - way too loud in her opinion, her head was starting to throb - he announced her birthday, and suddenly the whole ball room was singing "Happy Birthday." to her.
Her cheeks scorched, but she couldn't keep a stupid grin from blossoming.
"Stand up, make a wish, and blow out the candle, birthday girl," Peter said.

Sunny pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Filling her lungs with a breath far larger than necessary for one candle, she pursed her lips and blew, extinguishing the flame.
The crowd broke into applause. Peter set the dish onto the table.
"Did you make a wish?"
She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
"Why not?"
"Didn't seem like there was a point."

He tilted his head slightly to one side, hazel eyes growing soft. He shook his head and tsked. "That's not what I expect from a girl named Sunny. Now, close your eyes and make a wish."
She shuttered her eyes and slowly counted to five, then opened them again.
He stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of his spicy aftershave, and looked at her expectantly.
"Well?"

Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth. His lips looked warm, inviting. A smirk tugged at the corners of her own mouth as she lifted her gaze to his eyes.
"I wish for a kiss," she announced loudly.
Several of the ladies at their table chuckled.
"Sounds more like you get the present, boy," called a gray-haired gentleman on Sunny's left. "Go for it, so we old guys can live vicariously through you. Kiss the pretty birthday girl."
The man's wife slapped him on the shoulder.

Peter glanced down. A playful smile lifted Sunny's lips - her sweet, pink lips, lips he'd wanted to taste for some time now.
He leaned closer.
Soft lavender teased at his nose as he skimmed his mouth over hers.
"Don't be cheap," she murmured quietly against his lips as she grasped his lapels. "Give the old men - and me - a thrill."

The second the tip of her tongue pressed against the seam of his mouth, he knew he was done for.
With a muffled groan, he slanted his head and fully took possession of her lips, then probed deeper, losing himself in her.
She tasted of chocolate and champagne, sweet and bubbly as befitted her personality. And her bubbles were going straight to his head. Both of them.

With a small sigh, he released her, opening eyes he couldn't recall closing, to gaze down at her.
Smeared pink lipstick, puffy lips, and a slightly dazed expression on her face suggested she'd been as affected by the kiss as he had. Maybe more so. Which stood to reason. She was only 21 tonight, for God's sake. *Just a kid.* Years younger than him. He had no right kissing her like that.

Their tablemates broke into applause, punctuated by a few good- natured hoots from the men. The band played something slow in the background, and Sunny grabbed him by the hand, a new smile already sliding into place across her face.
"Come on, Peter. Let's dance."

He swallowed a groan of dismay as she led him, weaving around the other sets of half occupied round tables, to the wooden dance floor in the center of the ballroom. She laid her hands on his shoulders and snuggled close. He wrapped his arms around her.
The soft floral smell of her coupled with the press of her delightful curves against him would make a non Shaolin priest give up his vows. Maybe he could claim the telltale bulge in his tux trousers was a new type of holster he was testing out for the department.

They'd slow-danced, his arms sheltering her, a place she longed to stay for the rest of her forever. They danced fast, until she'd been breathless from exertion. They'd done the Electric Slide, the Macarena, and even the Hokey Pokey.
Her pity-date-hero had turned out to be a hell of a good sport. Not exactly what she'd expected from such a hunky, calendar pin-up man.

He clutched her right hand in his, grip steady, reassuring. Her left hand draped across his shoulder, toying with the silky strands of his hair along the back of his neck. She pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the sensation of hard, lean muscles that contrasted the softness of her own skin, her own body. A quick mental flash of his calendar photo made her heart-rate pick up. What would it be like to be pressed against him, skin to skin?
Yeah, right, like that would ever happen.

Still, a girl - a woman, she corrected herself - after all she was 21 tonight - was entitled to her fantasies. And thank God she'd never written her Detective December fantasies where her snoopy brother could read them!

The spice of Peter's aftershave had faded and mingled with the scent of male skin. His fingers trailed lazy paths across her back. She let herself float in the sensations, lost in a dreamy state of bliss in his arms.
Until the dreamy sensations became overwhelmed by a rude awakening, the resurgence of pins and needles in her left fingers. A companion set of tingles erupted in her left foot.
*So much for fantasy.*

She clenched her jaw and focused on finishing the dance without stepping on his feet. The band launched from "Three Times a Lady" into something way too loud, hard and fast, with a heavy rock tempo.
She eased away from Peter. The beat took up residence inside her skull, hammering away with savage intensity. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"What's wrong?"
His voice, laced heavily with concern, sliced through the din of the ball room and the thudding in her head. The warmth of his hand slipped around her elbow.
"Nothing. I think maybe I need to sit this one out, that's all."
She opened her eyes and forced a tremulous smile for him.
"Bull. You've gone three shades lighter, your eyebrows are pulled down, and a little nerve in the side of your jaw is twitching."
As he spoke, he propelled her away from the dance floor.

"Oh, my, you make me sound so attractive. It's a wonder men aren't flinging themselves at my feet."
She stumbled slightly as her left foot refused to obey fast enough to keep up with him. His hand at her elbow steadied her.
Great. She was no longer a woman in a killer dress, dancing with a sexy man. No, now she was back to a semi invalid who couldn't even walk properly. Hot tears crested in her eyes, and she blinked them back.

He slowed his pace.
"They're not flinging themselves at your feet because they'd have to get through me first. You've heard of dance with the one that brought you? That's me."
He steered her through the throngs of partiers to a fairly secluded place near the far wall, easing her down into a chair. He crouched beside her, extended his hand to slide the backs of his fingers across her cheek.
"Tell me, Sunny. I'm not your brother who needs to be sheltered from your condition."

The gentleness in his voice penetrated the walls she'd built to keep the world out of her "condition" as he called it.
"It's too loud in here. And whatever magic your father did is wearing off."
She sighed. "My head is pounding and my fingers are tingling. And I can't take any pain meds because of the champagne. I've been off them for days just for tonight."
"Ahh, Sunny."
He took her left hand in his and gently massaged it, causing a new surge of tears to well up in her eyes. He was so damn sweet.

"I'm sorry." He swiveled his head, glancing toward the exit. "You want to get out of here?" She shook her head. "No, please! I don't want to go home yet. It's only a little after ten. Please, Peter..."
She traced the line of his jaw with her right hand, then cupped his chin, urging his head up `til his gaze lifted from her left hand to her face.
"Please. We both know this is my last birthday, my last New Year's Eve. Don't make me go home before midnight. I just...I just need to rest a bit, find someplace quiet for a few minutes."

He offered her a sad half-smile, then pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand. "I'm not going to make you go home before midnight, Cinderella."
He rose to his feet, but stared down at her.
"I'll see what I can do. Wait here, okay?"
"I'm not about to run off."

He turned and moved in the direction of the main doorway.
"Peter?" she called after him.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Yeah?"
"You're the best-looking fairy godmother a girl ever had."
His grin started small, but grew quickly. His pearly whites flashed at her, then he shook his head and chuckled.
"Thanks. I think. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Then he vanished into the press of the crowd near the bar.

Sunny lifted her right hand and massaged the back of her head. Only a few more hours until the New Year. And if she were very, very lucky, maybe the handsome Detective December could be convinced to kiss her again at midnight.

************

"I just wanted you to have your nice, quiet place to rest," Peter said as the elevator eased to a stop and the doors parted with a ping. He grasped Sunny's elbow and guided her into the corridor and down the hallway. He fumbled with the keypass card in his jacket
pocket, swiped it through the magnetic lock, then pushed open the door.

She hesitated in the doorway.
"Don't worry. I'm not planning on pouncing on you."
His fingers brushed across the soft skin of her cheek.
She glanced up at him. Through the pain and weariness in her blue eyes, a spark of something...humor?...appeared and she offered him a slight smile.
"My loss, I'm sure." She winked at him.
He lowered his hand as his gut tightened. Part of it was in response to her teasing, but part of it was pure admiration for her grace in what had to be the most difficult situation anyone could ever face. How he wished her fate could have been different, that they'd met under different circumstances. He'd never imagined posing as Detective December for the PBA's calendar would land him in a situation like this.

"Come on, let me show you around, then we'll get you settled for a rest."
He tugged her gently into the suite.
"Show me around? What's to show..."
Her mouth gaped open for a minute as she swiveled her head.
"Holy moly."

Peter grinned and guided her through the marble-tiled foyer. As they passed the cherry desk with the fax machine, he draped her jacket over the back of the matching chair. She set her purse beside the phone. Peter guided her into the living area.
"Oooo, wait a minute."
She grabbed his arm for support and kicked off her low-heeled black pumps. She wiggled her toes in the plush carpet.
"Aaahhhh. If I sink too far into this rug, you'll pull me out, right?"
Another glance around the room.
"This place is amazing! I had no idea there were hotel rooms like this."
"Hey, Cinderella deserves nothing but the best on her birthday."
"But...but this all must be costing you a fortune."
He laughed. "Never mind about that. Let's just say that the manager of this hotel has a certain soft-spot for me. My sister had her wedding here."
"Oh. That must have been beautiful."

Sunny eased past the round dining table and chairs, crossing to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She eased the curtain aside.
"I always dreamed about what my wedding would be like..."
"Don't."
Peter found himself at her side before he realized he'd moved.
"Don't talk about things like that, Sunny."
He pressed his fingertips against her lips.
"Focus on the here and now, not anything else."

Her lower lip quivered beneath the pads of his fingers and she glanced downward.
"I'm sorry."
"Sshhh. Don't be sorry. I just don't want you to dwell on anything like that tonight. Tonight we celebrate New Year's and your birthday."
He slipped his hand beneath her chin and urged it up.
"Look at me, Sunny."

Long lashes fluttered as she raised her gaze to meet his.
"I'm amazed by your spirit and your courage. Earlier tonight you were afraid this was a pity date. The only thing that's a pity is I'm not going to have enough time to really get to know you."
Though moisture shimmered in her eyes, she offered him that tremulous, but brave smile. It sucker-punched the breath right out of him.
"We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?" she said.
"Wasn't that a song?"

He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. She nestled into him, her own arms going around his waist.
"Yes. Maybe it should be our theme song."
"Maybe."

The warmth of her body pressed against his made him think things he had no right thinking, made him want things he had no right wanting.
"Maybe you should lie down now. The bedroom is up- stairs."
"Up-stairs?"
She lifted her head from his chest.
"Up-stairs? You're joking, right?"

He smiled, and turned her around to face the staircase tucked into the corner.
"Nope. Up-stairs."
"Will you...come with me?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes hopeful.
He swallowed hard, then shook his head.
"No. I think I'll just go into the living room and turn on the TV while you rest."
"Then I'll lie down on the couch."

He could see a spark of fear in her eyes, understood the deep desire not to be alone. Though there were times when his soul craved solitude, truth was, he'd had more than enough of being alone in his life. He held out his hand.
"Okay, come on, then."

Several minutes later, she was settled on the couch, and the big- screen TV blared Dick Clark's Rocking New Year's Eve Party. Peter stabbed the remote until the volume lowered to soft level.
"I'll be right back," he told her, laying the remote on the end table near her head.
He wandered back to the dining area, removing his bowtie along the way. He shoved it into the jacket pocket, then took the jacket off and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. His shoulder holster went under it, after he checked the safety on the Beretta. The top two buttons of the dress shirt were next, and he rolled his head, vertebrae popping, to get the kinks out of his neck. Much better.

A quick trip up-stairs, and he returned with a pillow and blanket in hand.
"Lift up your head."
She did, and he tucked the pillow in beneath her and draped the blanket over her. Then he lifted up her feet and slid onto the couch, laying them back down in his lap. Absentmindedly he began to massage the ball of her stocking-clad foot with his thumb.

Her groan of pleasure shot straight to his groin. For a moment he held his breath. Her foot twitched in his lap.
"Don't stop. God, that feels so good."
His heart pounded in his chest. Damn, how he wanted to hear those words from her in another context. He wanted to strip that velvet dress off her and investigate those fabulous curves closer. Wanted to listen to her moan his name as he drove them both to the peak of pleasure.

*Get a grip, Caine. She's a sick woman. And you're one sick man for thinking of her like that.* His fingers had resumed their massage, and she sighed.
"Mmmmm, lovely. You have talented hands, Detective. Oh, wait!"
She threw aside the blanket and turned around on the couch, settling her head, face in, on his thigh.
He swallowed a groan. Her blond hair fanned out across his knees.
"Rub here. That will help so much, Peter."
She guided his fingertips to the back of her head and he automatically rubbed.

The music from the TV droned on in the background. Her head was on his thigh, for God's sake. Mere inches from a portion of his anatomy that throbbed with every pounding beat of his heart. The woman was trying to kill him.
He could imagine Nicky's corner's report: Detective Caine aka Detective December died of a heart attack brought on by unrelenting sexual desires. And then Nick would add with a smirk to the rest of the precinct: But he died like a man. With a hard-on.

Her breathing evened out and the tension lines in her face faded as sleep claimed her.
At least one of them was relaxed.
Peter stroked the soft, blond hair sprawled across his lap. At peace, she resembled an angel - and he was headed straight to hell, the way he was imagining her pretty face flushed with passion.
*Avoid temptation.*

Gingerly he slipped out from beneath her head, leaving the pillow to take his place and covering her again with the blanket.
He headed for the windows and opened the curtains, gazing down on the myriad of city lights. So many people out there, celebrating, and yet, he felt completely cut off from them, so alone. Was that how she felt, facing death?
The times death had tried to claim him had been sudden, no time for advance contemplation. Falling down the stairwell in that building had barely left enough time for a clearly thought, "Oh, Shit!" before the impact had launched him into the bizarre, chaotic world of the bardo.

Cold radiated through the window. His breath fogged the pane, obscuring his view. He turned back into the room. If nothing else, he would make sure her last birthday, her last New Year's Eve was something she'd treasure, something to hang on to when it got rough.
A few phone calls would cover things.

At precisely quarter to twelve, he knelt beside the sofa.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, then murmured, "Have we changed fairy tales, Princess? From Cinderella to Sleeping Beauty? Wake up, it's almost pumpkin time."

Her head shifted on the pillow. Silken eyelashes fluttered, then opened. The haze of sleep melted away and she smiled at him.
"Will the limo driver turn into a mouse?"
"Donnie?" Peter chuckled. "Donnie is sometimes a weasel, sometimes a rat, but never a mouse."

Donnie's attempt at a "respectable" career probably wouldn't last much longer, either. But it had worked out for tonight. And he still made a great snitch, having overheard a number of interesting conversations from the driver's seat.

Peter ran his fingers across her forehead.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better, thanks. Just too much noise, I think. I've always been sensitive to loud noise, even before..."
"Well, we're just going to ring in the New Year right here, nice and quiet like, just the two of us."
He rose to his feet.
"You stay here, and I'll be right back."

Sunny sat up as Peter padded from the room. Shoeless, she noted. Maybe men's dress shoes hurt as much as women's did. Whatever the case, the handsome detective had certainly made himself comfortable during her nap.
She tossed the blanket to the end of the couch. Peter returned toting a tall, frosted, silver ice bucket and two fluted champagne glasses. He positioned the ice bucket beside the couch and then set the glasses on the table.
"For our midnight toast," he explained.
Actually, she'd had another tradition in mind for midnight.

Peter plucked the remote from the end table and un-muted the TV. The roar of the Times Square crowd behind Dick Clark floated into the room. Softly, she realized, in consideration for her head.
"Be back again."
Peter darted from the room once again and returned with more stuff in his hands.
"A crown for my princess."

She giggled as he set a cardboard tiara on her head.
"Lovely, thank you so much. But where's your party hat?"
"Aha."
He produced the Santa hat from behind his back with a flourish.
"I figured since it was this hat that brought us together in the first place..."
He left off with a broad grin and plunked the hat on his head at a rakish angle.
"I love that hat."
"I'm glad."
"But I have to confess, it wasn't really the hat that did it for me."
She rose to her feet.
"It wasn't?"
She shook her head.

His eyes widened.
"My considerate personality?"
"Nope. Although that is definitely attractive, it didn't quite come through your pose, Detective December."
She stepped toward him, closing the gap between them. In the dim light that filtered in from the dining area and from the big-screen TV, she couldn't be certain, but thought she saw a flush creep across his face. Damn, the man was cute as hell.

"That doesn't leave much, does it?"
"Oh, I don't know. I think it leaves a lot of unexplored territory."
She slipped her arms around his waist, felt him flinch back ever so slightly.
"Sunny," he whispered, a rasp in his voice.
"One minute and counting!" Dick Clark announced on the TV.
"One minute `til midnight, Peter," she said, glancing up at him.

They locked gazes. A shimmer of satisfaction crawled over her as she noted the flicker of desire in his hazel eyes. A slow burn ignited deep in her belly.
"30 seconds!" crowed Clark.
Sunny fastened her gaze on his lips.
"30 seconds."
Her tongue darted out to moisten her own lips, and he groaned softly.

At the ten second mark, Peter's head began a slow descent. Sunny tilted her face up and closed her eyes.
At five, he picked up the count in a whisper, his words a soft puff against her lips.
Three... Two... One...
Contact.

As the crowds on TV shouted "Happy New Year!" Peter's lips brushed against hers, hesitantly at first, then more boldly.
He nibbled on her lower lip, then pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently. When she gasped, he claimed her mouth completely, probing with the tip of his tongue.
She responded in kind, dipping in along the ridges of his teeth, parrying his tongue thrusts with her own.
Hot, sweet, and totally invigorating. It was as if she could taste his very soul. He was life, and warmth, and shelter from the storm, and she let herself drown in him.

The muscles in her legs quivered; the pins and needles dancing across her body were more sparks than anything else.
He left her gasping for air when he pulled away to whisper, "Happy New Year, Sunny," into her ear.
"Oh, yeah," she muttered, arms still clasped tightly around his trim waist.
He glanced down at her.
"Shall I pour the champagne?"
"Never mind the champagne, just -"
"Damn, I almost forgot!"

He pulled away from her, snapping off the TV and clicking on the stereo. He fiddled with the dials for a moment, then a DJ's voice filled the room.
"...dedication going out from Detective December to a very special lady, wishing her a very happy birthday, and a Happy New Year."

The opening strains of "We've Got Tonight" floated from the speakers. Peter held open his arms in invitation.
"May I have this dance, Princess?"
She moved into his embrace. Bodies pressed tightly together, they moved slowly in time with the music. Sunny found herself singing along.
"Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely, all of my hopes fading away, I've longed for love, like everyone else does..."
She let the words trail off, realizing how close to truth they were, how deeply they cut.

Peter picked it up, surprising her with his smooth voice.
"I know it's late, I know you're weary, I know your plans don't include me, still here we are, both of us lonely, both of us lonely."
She smiled at him.
"We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?"

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, and dipped his mouth to hers again, a crushing, deep, toe-curling kiss that went on forever and beyond.
The song was over when they surfaced for air. She hadn't felt this good, this alive, since September.

He pressed his lips against her forehead.
"Now, about that champagne..."
She shook her head.
"Forget the champagne. Take me to bed."

His mouth dropped opened, then snapped shut.
"Huh?"
"I want you to make love to me, Peter."
"M-make love to you?"
He shook his head.
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Sunny. I mean, you're sick and all -"
"I'm not sick, I'm dying. There is a difference. It's not like I'm contagious or anything."
"But-but I'm so much older than you -"
"And I'm not going to get any older than I am right now, and we both know that."

She pressed forward, grinding against the ridge of his arousal.
"Just like we both know you want me as much as I want you."
She watched his struggle play out across his face, in his eyes.
"Please, Peter. Make love to me."
He groaned, then quickly scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs.
"Your brother is going to kill me."
She giggled, looping her right arm around his neck.
"I think it'll be worth it."
"I know it will."
He kissed her again as he ascended the stairs.

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

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