Let It Snow...: The Prince who Stole Christmas

“No, I hadn’t.”

“You haven’t spoken to him?”

“Not a word.”

“Then I’ll just continue keeping watch.”

“Keeping a… You’re watching me?”

“Watching over you,” he grudgingly admitted.

“What? I’m not some kid who needs protecting.”

“Yet protect you I will,” he replied, his tone silky, brooking no argument, the words an utter promise. He wasn’t asking her, he was telling her. The man was going to look out for her whether she liked it or not.

She was left speechless, simply did not know how to respond to that. Most men she knew barely remembered to hold a door open for a woman, and this one wanted to be her bodyguard because somebody might come around looking to collect her brother’s debt?

Her independent, free-minded, chicks-rule-and-guys-drool side wanted to tell him to take his protection and his alpha male bullshit and shove them.

But another part of her, maybe the part that went to bed every night thinking of the way this man had held her, kissed her, caught her when she’d nearly fallen on the floor, went all gooey and warm instead.

This would never do. Gooey and warm didn’t fit her personality or her life. She was tough and strong. She needed to focus on making her business succeed, on paying her bills, on keeping her brother on the straight-and-narrow.

Claire was the caretaker; she always had been. She wasn’t a weeping heroine, a fair maiden who had heroes wanting to look after her. She had no time for overprotective men or fantasies of Prince Charming.

But oh, did he make it tempting.

She cleared her throat and slapped a hand down on the glass countertop. “Is there something you want?”

Me, for instance?

His dark eyes glittered to near black, his mind probably going right where hers had the moment she’d said the words. She kicked herself for giving him that kind of opening.

At least you didn’t ask him if he liked your chocolate.

“Yes. There is,” he told her.

She stepped back, pulled open the back door of the display case and bent toward it, waiting for him to point something out.

He didn’t. He just stood there, looking down at her.

“Do you want to sample something before you decide? I can offer you a free taste.”

Seriously? Again? Just tear open your sweater and offer a nipple. That would be about as subtle.

Claire had no idea why the man turned her into an idiot, but had to assume it was because she just hadn’t figured him out yet. Or because he kissed like he’d freaking invented kissing.

His lips twitched, as if he’d read her mind and knew she was mad at herself for offering these so-not-subtle innuendos.

“As much as I’d love to taste anything you might offer, I actually came here for another reason.”

Feeling heat burning her cheeks, she straightened and slid the case closed with a snap. “Oh?”

He nodded. “We’ve finished moving in, and I find I need to look around the city, to make sure I do want to attend the university here.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated. “The New York one.”

“New York University—NYU—is a great school.” The guy seemed too old for an undergrad, so she assumed he was going for a postgraduate degree. “How can I help?”

“Come out with me and teach me all there is to know about your city.”

Her heart thudded. He wasn’t here asking for directions, or to buy something to satisfy a sweet tooth. “You want me to…”

“Yes, Claire. I want you to go out with me. Tonight. Now.”

She blinked, wondering if that was an invitation, a request or a command. It sounded like all three.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t immediately said no. In fact, a hearty yes had tried to leap to her lips, but she’d swallowed the word, knowing she shouldn’t get any more involved with this man.

“I’ve got to close the shop.”

“It’s past closing time,” he pointed out.

So it was. She hadn’t even noticed. Nor, it appeared, had Jeannie, who was busy chatting up Philip’s buddy, who sat at a small café table, his hands curled around a cup of hot coffee.

“I have work to do in the kitchen, orders for tomorrow.”

“How long will that take?”

She thought about it. Mrs. West had been working this afternoon and had taken care of the basics. But there were some specialty jobs she didn’t trust to anybody but herself. “Probably a couple of hours.”

“Very well. Shall we say half past eight?”

A little over two hours from now. Yes, she supposed that was possible. She also supposed it was possible she could get up extra early tomorrow and do the orders. Which would leave her time now to shower, shave her legs, fix her hair, do her makeup, find something fabulous to wear, and talk herself into actually going through with it.

Oh, hell, who was she kidding? Her inner voice—the part of her that didn’t always want to be careful and responsible and protective—had already decided.

For once, she wasn’t going to be the sensible, always-thinking-of-everyone-else Claire. She was going to think of herself, to do something she wanted to do for a change, rather than what she was supposed to do.

She was going to go out with Mr. Dark and Dangerous.

4

“ARE YOU SURE SHE’S the one?” asked Shelby a short time later, while Philip got ready. “She’s so tall, and unfeminine.”

Philip pierced his cousin with a hot glare. “Her strength is part of what makes her so lovely, and she’s incredibly feminine in every way that really matters.”

He’d known plenty of ultrafeminine—read: helpless—females. Princesses, duchesses, rich merchants’ daughters… in his world, they were very much the same. All waited for a man to take care of them. None would risk breaking a nail to fix her own meal, much less spend hours on her feet preparing sweet and pretty treats that customers oohed and aahed over as they left the shop.

Claire’s independence fascinated him. Her beauty attracted him. Her wit amused him, her work ethic impressed him and her intelligence challenged him. She filled his thoughts, day and night. Oh, yes. He was sure she was the one.

“All right, then,” his cousin said with an exaggerated sigh, throwing himself down on the sagging couch. “It’s your funeral.” Shelby and Teeny made for interesting roommates—he could sometimes hear them bickering through the walls.

Philip just smiled to himself.

At eight-thirty, he walked downstairs to Claire’s apartment. The hallway was much brighter than it had been. He’d had Teeny purchase lightbulbs, and had personally installed them, not liking her having to move through the shadows.

Philip knocked once, waited, and knocked again. Then he heard a voice calling along the hall.

“Sorry, I’m here. I wanted to finish up a few things.”

Claire was waving to him from the doorway to the sweet shop. He walked toward her, noting the changes in her appearance from when he’d left her a few hours ago.

Though her hair was held back by a clip at one side, she’d left it down, and his hands reflexively tightened at his sides. In the low lighting the other night, he hadn’t noticed the hints of copper in the sea of brown curls. The rich swirl of colors brought to mind the decadent caramel chocolates she sold in her shop, and he immediately decided that was his favorite color.

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