Her Mistletoe Husband
Renee Roszel
His kisses were irresistibleAlex D'Amour was an unexpected–and decidedly unwelcome!–guest in Elissa Crosby's home. Not wanting to spoil the Christmas mood for her two younger sisters and their families, she asked Alex to pretend they were friends. But he got carried away by his part and what her sisters actually saw was Alex–the affectionate lover! Had independent Elissa finally met her match?Only she knew that Alex was not wanting her so much as her beautiful home. But under the spell of the Christmas mistletoe–and Alex's magical kisses–miracles could happen….ENCHANTED BRIDES–Wanted: three dream husbands for three loving sisters
“You’re a challenge, Miss Crosby.” (#ucffc99c1-50cd-5874-a576-4bc72f775be4)Enchanted Brides - The Myth (#ub43b9b60-e72c-5f0a-8031-3ca17d9efec0)Title Page (#u70f292f1-3325-5a52-b17d-585dd904ee78)Dedication (#u226a6b62-42d2-5354-a990-9fa16254b6ce)CHAPTER ONE (#uf90c7dc9-c763-59a3-8066-7fbfb4d78350)CHAPTER TWO (#uffd55da2-1990-537d-904c-b62a0b9be91d)CHAPTER THREE (#u90740f2a-e6e6-524c-a926-93411759683c)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You’re a challenge, Miss Crosby.”
She eyed him with skepticism. Something seemed to dawn on her, and her green eyes went appealingly wide. “What do you think you’re going to do? Seduce me?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
She flinched and he experienced a twinge of compassion. He didn’t like putting her out of her home. But she would be okay. Elissa Crosby had more backbone than any ten women he knew.
As they swayed intimately on the dance floor, he could feel her slim body move subtly against his. He found himself growing more and more aroused by her reluctant nearness. Lord, she was a temptress, even when temptation was the last thing on her mind.
Damn the woman! If she would only throw herself at him, he’d grow bored and lose interest. He gazed into those sexy, guarded eyes again, his lips quirking in self-mockery. Like hell he would. Bowing his head, he lowered his face toward hers.
Enchanted Brides
The Myth
The stately D’Amour mansion stands majestically in the countryside, its absentee owner rumored to be living in Europe. Glosed for years, this mansion has a charming myth surrounding it. Legend says that the mansion is enchanted and that “an unmarried woman who sleeps within its walls on her birthday, when the moon is full, will marry the first man she sees in the morning.”
Her Mistletoe Husband is the third in Renee Roszel’s spellbinding Enchanted Brides trilogy.
Also in the Enchanted Brides trilogy:
To Marry a Stranger (#3470)
Married By Mistake! (#3488)
Praise for the trilogy:
“Renee Roszel delivers a fast-paced, humorous tale as she blends commanding characters with a strong premise and lovable secondary characters in Her Mistletoe Husband.”
—Romantic Times
“Ms. Roszel adds sound characterization to a touching premise to win our hearts.”
—Romantic Times on To Marry a Stranger
Her Mistletoe Husband
Renee Roszel
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my real-life sisters,
Norda and Ronda.
Can you find yourselves among the three
Crosby sisters?
CHAPTER ONE
ELISSA’S elbow hit the floor with a thump, waking her and making her wince. She groaned, but as soon as the sound was out of her mouth, she clamped her hand over her lips.
What if he heard?
A shiver raked her body, but the reaction had more to do with her terror than the cold. She blinked, clearing away the blur of sleep. It was dark, very dark, except for the slash of light at the bottom of the door to the closet where she was hiding. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep, but even in her fright exhaustion had finally taken its toll.
The slash of light at the bottom of the door!
She realized it must be after dawn. Around midnight she’d scrambled into the deserted D’Amour mansion through a loose board nailed over a window. She’d been sure the man following her hadn’t seen where she’d entered, but just to be safe, she’d hidden in this upstairs closet, barely breathing. For hours. Then she’d fallen into a fitful sleep.
Her whole body ached and felt cramped. It was so cold. Of course, being December, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Still, Elissa wasn’t accustomed to sleeping in closets in abandoned, unheated mansions. Stiff from the cold and the cramped position she’d been curled in, she shifted her wristwatch into the light stream. Seven o’clock! She couldn’t believe it.
What a lousy way to begin a birthday. First the flat tire, then, when she’d realized the flat was her spare, and started to walk home, there had been movement in the brush. A man. A big man. Something had glinted in the light of the full moon as he’d skulked from bush to bush—a wristwatch? A belt buckle? The blade of an ax? Her survival instincts had gone into high gear, especially after the unsigned letter she received last week. Threatening and scary. The police had taken a report and said they’d look into it. Even so, the sergeant had tried to reassure her, explaining it was most likely a prank, nothing to be worried about.
Nothing! Well, she’d like to know what they’d think now, after she’d been forced to huddle in a closet all night. She stood, swallowing to bolster her courage, assuring herself that not even a certified nutcase would hang around in subfreezing temperatures all night. Taking a deep breath she cracked open the door and peered into the bare room. Cobwebs, dust motes and the smell of must were her only companions. Sunlight streamed in the dingy arched windows, the brightness of the day strengthening her resolve. Stalkers belonged to the night, didn’t they?
As she emerged from the closet, the creak of the door sent a tingle of apprehension along her spine, but she controlled her reaction. “Elissa, are you a man or are you a mouse?” she muttered, then shook her head, her lips quirking. “Okay, so you’re neither. Just go.”
As soundlessly as she could, in a mansion that seemed to squawk and groan with every step, as if it were a cantankerous old grump, she made her way down the grand staircase and along the dark hall to the den. After peering out of the window through which she’d eatered, she determined that no large men with hatchets were lurking nearby. With a prayer on her lips, she slipped outside, not the easiest thing to do in her tweed suit’s slender skirt.
From her vantage point at the side of the house, she could see her old sedan, a hundred yards down the road, but she couldn’t see the front of the mansion. She hugged herself, watching her breath frost the air. What was she to do? Getting back to her inn and to a telephone was high on her list—just below staying alive. The trip would be cut in half if she took the shortcut through the woods. With a determined nod, she pivoted toward the back of the manor.
As she rounded the comer, a massive male figure loomed. “Oh, my Lord!” she cried. He was still here! Reacting on instinct, the self-defense course she’d taken flashed through her mind. She clawed at the stranger’s face and shot her knee up, finding her target. “Take that you pervert!” she yelled.
The intruder groaned then doubled over, and she knew she’d debilitated him enough to make her escape. She lurched away, scrambling into the woods. Stumbling and tripping along the rocky path, she cursed her unsuitable pumps. Her lungs burned with the cold, her brain whirring as she cast around in her memory. Who was that man? She only got a glimpse of him, but he seemed too well dressed to have been slinking around in the woods all night. And, unless he’d taken an advanced course in personal hygiene, he didn’t resemble any of her down-and-out law clients. She had a feeling she would have remembered those extraordinary eyes—the color of silver lightning—even squinting in pain and shock.
As she reached the back steps of her inn, she paused to get her breath. Sucking in gasps of stinging air, she decided it didn’t matter if she recalled him or not. He had to be someone from her time as a Kansas City lawyer. She’d only practiced for four years, and that seemed like an eternity ago. But apparently she wasn’t forgotten. Somebody with a very big grudge remembered her.
She hugged herself, stifling another shiver and exhaled a frosty cloud. The most important thing at the moment was, she’d gotten away. Sinking to the lowest step, she pushed a shaky hand through her fiery curls. She was baffled. Had this man blamed her for losing his case and for his being sent to prison? Or was he possibly the relative of some victim who felt that her defense had set a guilty man free? If that were the case, then why had he waited years after she’d given up the practice of law to come after her? Her move from Kansas City had been no secret. Whoever he was, she hoped a knee to the groin was enough to make him change his mind about coming after her.
Unfortunately she had her doubts. “Who are you, mister?” she mused in a winded exhale. “What do you want with me?”
Elissa felt better with the attention of the two young patrolmen who had answered her call. They’d checked around the D’Amour mansion and searched the woods between the estate and her inn. They’d even taken her tire into town and gotten it patched and returned her car to her. She loved small towns. You wouldn’t catch a Kansas City cop doing that.
The two officers promised to increase their patrols in the area and took down her sketchy description of the man she’d kneed that morning. One of the cops, built like a professional football player, startled her by asking her out to dinner. She was working on a nice way to decline and still get her extra night patrol when the front door of the inn opened.
She looked up to see at a towering man backlit by afternoon brightness. Dressed in an impeccable suit he seemed to completely block her door. He was handsome, his chiseled features marred only by three scratches along his jaw. When he met her gaze, she saw a flash of silver lighting in his eyes, and she screamed.
Plucking up the letter opener from the reception desk, she brandished it in his direction. “That’s the pervert who attacked me this morning! Get him!”
At that moment a second man slipped inside the door. Elissa recognized him as a detective in the Branson police department. A wiry man with ginger freckles on his balding skull, his name had something to do with food, but she couldn’t remember what. She stilled with her weapon thrust forward, making her look like Teddy Roosevelt pointing out the whites of his enemy’s eyes.
The tall pervert seemed to register having met her before, too, and those amazing eyes narrowed. “You,” he growled.
“Don’t just stand there,” she shouted, scanning the frozen cops and the detective who stood beside her stalker. “Grab him. Throw him to the ground and cuff him. He attacked me!”
The tall stranger scowled at her. “I attacked you?”
He took an ominous step toward her, and her ability to move returned. She waved the letter opener menacingly, adding some ad-libbed footwork, as if she were one of the Three Musketeers. “You certainly did attack me!” She eyed the cops with a pleading expression. “He’s dangerous, I tell you?”
“Me?” The stranger’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Who was the one who ended up in a heap on the ground?”
The cop who had asked her to dinner took a step toward the tall man, but the detective waved him off.
“Why isn’t anybody arresting that psychopath? Don’t let him come near me!”
The scowling stranger touched his damaged cheek. “Miss, I wouldn’t come near you unless you were declawed and your feet were glued to the floor.”
“Elissa,” the detective broke in, moving forward and extending his hand. “I’m Sergeant Jerry Hamm.”
“I remember you, Sergeant.” She tried to smile but her emotions were too wrought up for pleasantries. “And your wife. Minny, I think?”
“Right.” The sergeant had a quiet, oval face, his features almost delicate. He smiled encouragingly, showing off small, straight teeth. When she didn’t relinquish her letter opener to take his hand, he dropped his arm to his side. “Anyway, this is Alex D’Amour. He owns the mansion, er, next to your property.”
Elissa had a protest on the tip of her tongue, but the sergeant’s words stopped her. Her mouth worked for several seconds before she could speak. “This—this man owns the D’Amour mansion?”
Sergeant Hamm nodded. “I’m afraid we’re here with bad news.”
She frowned, her gaze shifting from the sergeant to the tall, immaculately dressed interloper with her fingernail marks on his face. “Then you didn’t follow me last night when my car broke down, and stalk me outside the mansion all night, and when I came out you didn’t try to...” Her question died away as she watched a dark brow lift in incredulity.
Looking at him now, dressed as if he spent more time in boardrooms than insane asylums, the idea that he was her stalker was starting to seem a little crazy. Okay, maybe a lot crazy. Perhaps she hadn’t been stalked after all. Certainly not by this man. Her mind spun with anxiety and confusion. Was she merely overwrought because of the ominous letter, seeing things that weren’t really there?
Doubt settled in her stomach as if it were a hot rock. She could see in the cops’ expressions that, with her wild accusations that Mr. D’Amour was her stalker, they’d concluded she was nothing but a flighty female, crying wolf. She had to face the possibility that they might be right.
Trying to regain some of her pride, she straightened her spine. “Well,” she said warily, refusing to totally relinquish her suspicions, “just—just because you dress well doesn’t mean you wouldn’t stalk me.”
He inhaled, nostrils flaring in obvious exasperation. “That’s generous of you, Miss Crosby. But no thanks.”
When he moved toward her, she backed away wielding the letter opener again. “What are you doing?”
He lifted a leather briefcase and laid it on the oak reception desk that separated them. Flicking the latches, he opened it. “As Sergeant Hamm said, I’m bringing bad news.”
She eyed him with mistrust, recalling the sergeant had said something like that. Unfortunately she’d been too preoccupied with making an idiot of herself for his words to register. “Bad news?”
He retrieved a file folder and tossed it onto the desktop in front of her. “I recently discovered I’m the heir to the D’Amour mansion, Miss Crosby.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers again, dark lashes framing those stunning eyes. His expression was no longer angry, but hardly pleasant. “I also own this inn.”
She heard the words but they didn’t make sense. She stared at him, bewildered. “What?”
He tapped the folder with one long, tanned finger. “I’ve brought evidence.”
She shook her head, running both hands through her hair as she tried to clear her brain. “But—no. I don’t understand. I bought this inn from the caretaker. He’d been left the property in the D’Amour’s will.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Crosby,” Sergeant Hamm said. “I know this is a blow to you, but the man who sold you the inn is a con artist. Extremely good. Fortunately he’s in jail now, in Texas, for a similar crime.” He indicated the folder before her. “Mr. D’Amour brought you a copy of his arrest record. The jerk fooled a lot of people over the years with scams like this. He found a likely property. Had all the right papers. At least they look right enough to convince the probate court and the title company.” He shrugged sloping shoulders. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”
She stared at the sergeant, her mind numb.
“I understand you’re a lawyer so I suggest you read these documents,” Mr. D’Amour said. “Once you do, everything will be clear.”
When he withdrew his hand from the desk her gaze traveled sluggishly to the yellow folder then rocketed to those silver eyes. “No,” she whispered. “There’s been some mistake.”
He pursed his lips, his brows knitting. Without response, he shook his head.
“I’m so sorry, Elissa,” Jerry Hamm said, again, looking contrite. She’d met him and his wife several times at Branson functions, and liked him. She supposed he had to be there, to make it official, and she could tell he was far from pleased with the assignment. The sadness in his brown eyes frightened her more than anything this arrogant stranger had said.
“I know I seem abrupt, Miss Crosby,” Mr. D’Amour said, breaking through the tense silence, “But I’ve given up my legal practice in L.A. and I’ve decided to live in the Midwest, to turn my grandparents’ home into a golf club and lodge. Branson is growing by leaps and bounds, and a resort near the city would be a good investment.” He closed his briefcase, snapping it shut with precise movements. All business. “I’m afraid the inn will have to be torn down to make room for the golf course. But you may continue operations through December while you make other living arrangements.” He took the briefcase in his hand. “Don’t take reservations for after the new year, however. I’ll need to take possession then.” Scanning the place in a cursory examination, he added more to himself than to her, “It looks quite livable.”
She stiffened at the surprise in his tone. “What did you expect?”
His glance returned to her and he shrugged wide shoulders—the image of cold-blooded elegance. “I admit, I didn’t expect this. But since it’s in such good condition, I’ll use it as my operating headquarters while the renovations to my mansion are going on. Now, if you’ll show me to a room?”
Elissa stared blankly at the brazen man before her—the man who had, with only a few words, ruined her life.
“We’ll be going now,” the husky police officers mumbled, shuffling around to go. Before Elissa registered what was happening, both patrolmen and Sergeant Hamm had gone—no doubt along with her extra patrols or any credibility she might have had before she’d accused this well-heeled lawyer of stalking her. She supposed he had every right to be walking on his own property.
“Well?” That one word stirred her from her stupor and she glanced up in question. “My room?”
His room? The man had unbelievable gall! She glared at him. He might own the D’Amour mansion, but he did not own her inn! “You can’t come in here and take over! Get out!” She thrust a stiff arm toward the door.
His jaw worked and her gaze was drawn again to the damage she had done to him. It’s a good thing she didn’t know then what she knew now, or she might have clawed him to shreds. “I’m afraid you don’t have a legal leg to stand on, Miss Crosby,” he cautioned. “Don’t make things worse.” He inclined his head toward the stairs, a clear command to be shown to a room.
She battled an urge to kick him in the shins, but she was afraid she’d just end up seeing Sergeant Hamm again, under less-than-sociable circumstances. Hating the idea that she might have to humor this overbearing man for even a few days, she let her arm fall to her side. She told herself that it would only be until this thing got straightened out, then she could kick him out on his expensively suited backside. “I’m going to fight you on this,” she warned.
“Feel free to sue me, Miss Crosby. But, you’ll lose.” The way he said it, with such cool assurance and total absence of bluster, made her shiver. “My room, Miss Crosby?”
She eyed him contemptuously. She’d be hanged if she was going to give him one of her guest rooms. “We’re full,” she lied. It wasn’t totally untrue. She’d reserved her two best rooms for her sisters and their husbands, who would be arriving in a few days to spend Christmas and New Years.
“This is my inn, remember?” he said. “I could send everybody away if I chose. Think real hard.”
Those silver eyes held a determined glint and alarm skittered up her spine. With a mutinous lift of her chin, she said, “You can stay in the basement parlor. The couch folds out.”
His expression told her he knew exactly what she was doing, and his brows furrowed at her ploy. “Is there office space down there?”
“My office is down there.”
He didn’t looked thoroughly pleased, but finally nodded. “All right. Until a room becomes available.”
She grabbed the folder and pivoted away. “When hell freezes over, buster,” she growled under her breath.
“I heard that.”
She spun to glower at him. “I’m thrilled.”
A mocking brow rose, and Elissa was disappointed to see that her most intimidating glare didn’t have him shaking in his expensive wing tips. “Where’s the basement, Miss Crosby?”
She marched away from him into the staircase hall, heading toward the kitchen. “It’s on the way to hell,” she snapped back. “I feel sure you’ll find it.”
She was startled by the derisive chuckle at her back. How dare he find entertainment in the annihilation of her life!
Alex D’Amour didn’t know who he was trying to push around. Elissa Crosby was not a woman to easily give up her dreams. The instant she hit the kitchen, she slammed the folder onto the table, startling Bella, the plump cook. Stubby hands fluttered to a ruffly bodice. Elissa looked up and tried to smile. “Sorry. Could you get me a cup of coffee?”
The middle-aged woman nodded and hurried to the pot. The coffee in Elissa’s mug had gone cold before she looked up from the documents to take a sip. Making a face, she rubbed her eyes. It looked bad. Mr. D’Amour seemed to have every legal right to the property. But then, the documentation she had looked just as good—and it had passed muster with the probate court and the title company. Even so, the face staring up at her from the police rap sheet looked a little like the man she’d known as the caretaker who’d sold her the old Victorian house. Not exactly like him, but...
And he had been in a hurry to sell, offering her a fantastic deal for cash. At least she’d thought it had been fantastic at the time. Unsettled by the thought, she bolted from the table and ran down the stairs toward her office, barely missing her unwanted guest as he was coming up. “Pardon me,” he said, sidestepping out of her way. She took no notice of him and barreled on, slamming into her tiny office.
The windowless room was hardly bigger than a closet, bare cement walls and floor, without windows or adornment. When the three sisters first moved into the inn, a small cot had been crammed between the desk and the entry wall, giving Elissa a makeshift bedroom. Now she slept in the room that Helen had first used, then Lucy. The cot was thankfully long gone. In its place stood two gray metal filing cabinets.
Her secretary’s chair was secondhand and worn, as was her metal desk and fax. But by heaven they were hers—just like her inn—and she loved every scratched, dented inch of each piece.
With fingers that would hardly function, she dialed her old professor and mentor at the University of Missouri law school. Though she prided herself on her independence, not leaning on anyone, she was no fool. She knew she needed professional guidance in this. And there was no one who knew the law like Dr. Grayson. When he came on the line, she worked to keep her voice even, placid, explaining what had happened.
By the time she sat down in her creaky chair, she was no longer trembling. Dr. Grayson had always been a calming influence and she felt a flood of relief, knowing that a man of such serene wisdom was on her side.
“Send me everything you have, Elissa. I’ll see what I can find out.”
She swallowed, her gratefulness making her teary. “Thanks, Dr. Grayson. I’d feel better with somebody who’s up on things to go over this.” Her voice breaking, she winced, then admitted as evenly as she could, “I’m afraid I can’t be objective. This man is trying to take away my life.”
There was silence for a moment, before Dr. Grayson spoke. “I hope we can find a loophole, dear.”
There was another bothersome pause and Elissa’s anxiety level soared. “What? What is it you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing, dear. Nothing to worry about.”
“Dr. Grayson,” she insisted. “Tell me!”
He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t have left the law, Elissa. You have good instincts.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I do know something that might upset you. And I wish you weren’t so intuitive to sense it.”
“What is it?” She felt pain and realized she was digging into her knee with her nails.
“Well...” Her professor cleared his throat again. Not a good sign. “I’ve heard of Alex D’Amour. He’s one hell-on-wheels litigator. You remember that Hildabrant Industries toxic waste suit out in California?”
She felt a surge of nausea. “He won that?”
“Got a hundred million dollar settlement for the families in the affected area. I’m afraid he may be hard to beat.”
Elissa closed her eyes and sagged in her chair. “Oh—Dr. Grayson. You have to find something to prove I’m the rightful owner. I’ve put every cent I’ve made back into this place. If I lose it, I’ll have nothing.” Her lips quivered and she pulled them between her teeth.
“Try not to worry. If there’s a way to keep your inn, I’ll find it.”
She nodded, but couldn’t speak. Her voice was too quivery to trust.
“This is Sunday, so tomorrow, overnight-mail your documents to me. Okay?”
She cleared her throat, but her “okay” was fragile, almost undetectable. “First thing.”
“And, Elissa...”
“Yes, Dr. Grayson?” She toyed with the handle of a mug, half full of day-old coffee.
“Try to have a Merry Christmas.”
She inhaled unsteadily. “I won’t be merry until I know the inn is mine.”
“I’ll do this as quickly as I can, but you know how things go. Especially around the holidays.”
“I know.” She cringed, disconcerted that her turmoil was spilling over into her voice. She hardly ever cried, but she was right on the verge. “Thanks...” She whispered, swiping at a tear.
“Goodbye, dear.”
When he broke the connection, Elissa couldn’t move. She didn’t know how long she sat there with the receiver clutched in her hand.
A knock at her office door made her jump, and she dropped the receiver. The clatter it made hitting the cement floor, then bouncing up into her metal desk, then dropping back to tap-dance across floor, was nerveracking.
“Are you okay?” came a deep male voice.
She lurched to her feet, grabbing the receiver by the cord and drawing it up. “What do you want?” After a couple of fumbled tries, she managed to get the stubborn thing into the phone’s cradle. “I’m busy.”
“I need to use the fax.”
“Don’t you have some fancy laptop computer you could use?”
“Not on me.”
She slumped to perch a hip on her desk, crossing her arms before her. “What if I told you you can’t use mine?”
There was silence for a long minute, a silence that was far from reassuring. “What if I told you to get out of my inn, today?” he challenged.
She gasped. “I—I you wouldn’t!”
“I need to use the fax.”
He opened the door. Some small comer of her mind caught on the fact that he’d changed out of his dark three-piece suit and was now wearing soft beige trousers and a matching polo shirt. She was startled to note that he was more muscular than she might have expected of a man who spent his days drinking three-martini lunches and filing wordy briefs.
Formidable and grim, he stood there watching her with those breath-stealing eyes, his resolve electrifying the air around her. “Are you going to move, Miss Crosby?”
Never overly thrilled at being ordered around, she gritted her teeth and dug in her heels. “Have you heard of the phrase, ‘When pigs fly,’ Mr. D’Amour?”
He took a step toward her; the scratches along his jaw jumped as muscles flexed beneath the skin—a silent testament to his anger.
CHAPTER TWO
ELISSA had no idea what she thought she was doing, leaning against her desk, arms crossed belligerently. She was acting as though she intended to block Alex D’Amour from gaining access to her fax.
That was the most ludicrous idea she’d ever had, and her brain screamed, Jump out of the way before he flattens you, idiot! Nevertheless, her body resisted. Stubbornness was a flaw in Elissa’s character—according to her sisters—but she had always thought of it more as, well, being right.
Elissa watched D‘Amour lift his arms and she stiffened, visualizing herself being thrown through the office door. She clenched her teeth, warning in a low voice, “Go ahead—try to use my fax. If you dare.” She lifted her chin. An instant too late it occurred to her that giving him such a conspicuous target wasn’t very bright. Okay, Mr. D’Amour, she cried inwardly, if you’re looking for some knee-in-the-groin revenge, here’s your chance!
Two steps and Alex D’Amour was close enough to strike. A growl issued from his throat and he grasped her upper arm, tugging her away from the desk. Against her will, she cringed as he leaned around her. He’s not going to simply throw me out the door, Elissa thought in panic, he’s going to throw me over his shoulder-and then out the door!
His hand came down, rubbing hard across her backside—hardly what she’d expected. Instinctively she jumped sideways, only to be caught again as he returned to his rubbing. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, shocked and breathless.
“Hold still.”
She wrenched at his grip, but he held her fast. The lethal glare she shot him missed its target, since his attention was focused on her back—her hips to be brutally precise. Furious, she shifted so that she could knee him the way she had that morning, but he deftly dodged the attempt, releasing her so suddenly she nearly fell.
“Only one free groin shot to a customer, Miss Crosby.”
When she righted herself he had turned his back and was swabbing a handkerchief over her desktop, soaking up some dark liquid. Suddenly she realized what he was doing. “My coffee spilled?”
“It isn’t mine.” He refolded his handkerchief and sopped up the remainder of the liquid that was snaking toward the fax machine. Elissa inched up beside him, tentatively touching the seat of her wool skirt. She detected a faint dampness. Twisting around as far as she could, she squinted down at the herringbone pattern. “Did it stain?” She arched around until she’d turned in a full circle. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see her rear end, much less a stain on her skirt.
His large hand on her shoulder halted her halfway through her second spin. “You remind me of a puppy chasing its tail,” he said. “And no, it didn’t stain.” He held the soaked handkerchief toward her. “Where can I put this?”
She glowered at him as the harsh fluorescent light above his head accentuated his rugged good looks. Thick, black hair that tapered neatly to his collar gave off a soft luster, begging for fingers to stroke and caress. Tall and straight, he was a remote yet majestic figure, with the trace of silver at his temples and eyes that glowed like mercury. In other words, the man was sexy-as-hell. The instant the wayward thought surfaced in her mind, she squelched it, growing angrier. She had never acted like a fluttery female in her life, and she didn’t intend to start now. Especially not because of him!
Mild amusement rode his gaze, hiking her agitation. Her lips parted with an urge to tell him exactly where he could put his handkerchief, but a rush of gratitude stopped her. His quick thinking had saved her favorite skirt. Before she could form an answer, his lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “I’ll rephrase that. Where is your laundry room?”
Though she knew she should thank him, she stubbornly pursed her lips. Part of her wanted to tell him she was grateful, but most of her wanted him to take a flying leap off a cliff. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but civility won out, and she nodded toward the office door. “The laundry room’s across the hall.” She extended a hand, surprising herself even more. “I’ll take it.”
He appeared as startled as she felt. “Thanks.” He placed the dripping mess into her open palm. “Now, Miss Crosby, may I use your fax?”
She had pivoted toward the door. With his question, she halted, bitterness swelling inside her. He had some nerve asking her permission when they both knew what would happen if she refused. She turned back, her glare unblinking and reproachful. “I’m going to fight you on this, Mr. D’Amour. I’ll prove my ownership.” She paused, struggling to suck in a breath that didn’t catch in her throat. “I may have to put up with you for a few days, but don’t get the notion I believe you have any claim to my property. Once I get verification that this inn is mine, I’ll call the police to have you tossed out on your ear. Do we understand each other?” The last words were a rough whisper.
One dark brow curled upward. “Is that a yes?”
Her temper flared. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this outraged. How dare he not be intimidated. She felt a spark of misgiving at that, but tried to reassure herself. Mr. D’Amour is a lawyer, trained to disguise his emonons, to look supremely confident even when he’s quaking with fear. She’d been out of the profession a long time, and was rusty at the game. Unfortunately he was at the top of his.
For all her loathing of this man and his plans to take away her inn, she had to give him credit. He was good. He just stood there, watching her, making her doubt herself without saying a word.
She’d never met anyone who could affect her that way, and she had a sinking feeling he wasn’t cloaking any fear with false calm. He was simply very sure of himself. That realization tore her confidence. No! She couldn’t accept that. For if it were true, then she didn’t own...
She fought back the thought, too horrible to allow full-blown into her mind. Digging deep within herself, she managed to straighten her face and square her shoulders, giving him back the same, self-assured air that he displayed so flawlessly. Two could play at this game. Elissa Crosby did not cower or admit defeat!
She managed a polite expression, a miracle, considering her internal turmoil. “Guests of my Inn may use the fax for free, Mr. D’Amour.” She shifted to go, then glanced over her shoulder, her smile calculated. “I’ll run you a tab.”
Elissa’s bravado was wearing thin. It had been a long day, especially considering how little sleep she’d had the night before, crouched in the D’Amour mansion closet. She hadn’t realized the thought of going down to her bedroom would engender as much emotional chaos as spending the night in a frigid, cramped enclosure in fear for her life. But that’s how she felt as she headed toward the basement stairs.
Since her staff had immediately recognized the D‘Amour name, she’d told her housekeeper, her cook and her part-time assistant that Mr. D’Amour was going to be a neighbor. She had “been delighted” to offer him lodging while he was refurbishing his mansion. She had no intention of stirring up fears among her employees about the possibility of their losing their jobs. She wouldn’t give that idea a moment of her time. It simply would not happen.
With her new, part-time employee manning the registration desk, Elissa trudged down the stairs. To her great discomfort, she would have to pass by Mr. Stealerof-Dreams. When she opened the door to the basement, she noticed a light on, making it clear that he was still awake.
She decided she’d better knock before barging around the comer, though it grated on her nerves that she must make any concessions for this man. She rapped against the partially open door.
“Yes?” came a deep voice.
“I’d like to go to my room. Are you decent?”
“No, I’m buck naked.”
Her cheeks warmed at the risquå vision that passed through her mind. The unexpected reaction irritated her, and she wasn’t sure why. Stiff-backed she marched into the room. “Sarcasm is a poor excuse for humor, Mr. D’Amour.” Though she’d vowed not to look at him, movement caught her attention and she turned, only to stumble to a halt as her unwelcome guest wrapped himself in a towel. “Oh...” she cried, feeling as though she’d been hit in the stomach.
“Thanks for that bulletin about sarcasm, Miss Crosby.” He tucked the comer of his towel at his side to secure it “But I rarely lie about being naked.” He bent down to his open suitcase and plucked up what looked to be a shaving kit. Glancing narrowly at her, he headed for the bathroom that opened out into the basement parlor. His long legs ate up the distance, flexing calf and thigh muscles drawing her gaze. When he reached the door, he turned to lounge a shoulder against the jamb. “Did you say something?” An eyebrow rose in question.
She could do nothing but shake her head. Waning emotions squeezed her throat like a vise. She despised the man, but some basic womanly instinct sent a ripple of appreciation through her as she saw what a marvelous male specimen he was.
“Oh? Too bad.” He appeared thoughtful. “I thought you might have apologized for barging in. My mistake.”
Her face was flaming and had to be the same color as her hair. She attempted to speak, knowing she should atone, but no sound would come.
His lips curving in the vaguest smile, he slowly cocked a hip. Elissa caught the movement and stared, experiencing a lurch in her chest. With the lazy, calculated move, the ends of his towel separated nearly all the way up his thigh, leaving only his masculine essentials to the imagination. Unfortunately her imagination decided to go there with a vengeance. Pulling in a deep breath she belatedly forced her gaze to his face. She was appalled to see that his grin had grown shrewd. “Been a long time, huh?”
Her jaw almost hit the floor when she realized what he meant. Had she been obviously devouring him with her eyes? It was true that she hadn’t dated anyone in a while. But running her inn was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. Her lack of male companionship was her choice. Was he suggesting she was a poor, deprived old maid, lusting after him? Him! Of all people in the world! Realizing her mouth was open, she pressed her lips together and counted to ten. “I beg your pardon!” she finally demanded in a raspy whisper.
He straightened, deftly tossing the shaving kit from one hand to the other. “I accept your apology, Miss Crosby.” His gaze taunting, he took a step back and closed the door between them.
She didn’t know how long she stood there scowling, wishing looks could drill through doors and vaporize arrogant interlopers in their tracks. Her body fairly vibrated with fury. The man was impossible! How long could she bear to have him underfoot, acting so superior, so smug while insisting he owned her inn?
The click of a door opening made her start and she was mortified to be caught still rooted there like a potted geranium. When Mr. D’Amour came out of the bathroom this time, he was wearing a pair of gray shorts. He glanced her way, a sparkle coming to life in his eyes. “How nice—company,” he said, without even a hitch in his step. It was as though he expected her to be there waiting for him. “What can I do for you now, Miss Crosby?”
He began to remove cushions from the sofa, preparing to open it up into a bed. Elissa watched him, noting the play of muscles along his arms and shoulders, the tautness of his belly as he bent over. Not an ounce of extra flesh bulged over the elastic waistband of his shorts. Blast him! As her mind began to wonder about how many sit-ups it might take to create a belly like his, he straightened. Holding a cushion, he gave her a rather amused, speculative look. She frowned. What had he asked?
Laying the cushion aside, he indicated the sofa. “I bet you stayed to help me open the bed.” His eyes were challenging.
Her emotions jangling with embarrassment and indignation, she planted her hands on her hips. “Mr. D’Amour, the only thing I’d care to help you open is an artery.” She jerked her head toward the bathroom. “There are clean sheets and blankets in the linen closet.” In an icy monotone, she added, “Just so you’re perfectly clear on this, I do not consider you a guest, I consider you an intruder.”
His unwavering gaze disconcerted her. After a few ticks of the clock he nodded, then bent to tug open the bed. With a high-pitched creak, it unfolded revealing the thin mattress that covered the springs. When he straightened and looked at her again, he propped his fists on his hips in a gesture that was plainly mocking. “And just so you’ll be perfectly clear, Miss Crosby, I do not consider myself a guest, either. I consider myself a property owner who is being very lenient with a squatter.”
She gasped, horrified. “Squatter!” The suggestion was so outlandish it was laughable. She only wished she could laugh. “If I were you, Mr. D’Amour, I’d watch who I called a squatter. You’re sleeping on my sofa, remember.” She wheeled around toward her bedroom.
“Then maybe you should call me Alex.”
She had taken hold of the doorknob when she started to turn back, then decided against it. She might not be able to keep herself from hurdling the sofa bed and strangling him. How dare he bait her. She was no hypocrite. She didn’t intend to call her worst enemy by anything as intimate as his first name, and he knew it. Especially not after he had suggested it. Too angry to trust her voice, she squeezed the doorknob until her knuckles whitened.
The silence between them grew heavy with tension. “Mr. D’Amour,” she managed to say at last, “don’t ever again wander around my inn—naked.”
Elissa couldn’t recall a time when her luck had been worse. As she opened her door the next morning, she found herself facing the obnoxious Alex D’Amour. His bed had been folded into a sofa again and he was dressed in a pair of jeans, work boots and a burgundy turtleneck sweater. He didn’t look much like a high-powered California lawyer, today. When he noticed her, he spread his arms, palms up. “Okay?”
She frowned, puzzled. “What?”
He grinned. “I’m not naked.”
Her cheeks blazing, she broke eye contact and barreled toward the stairs. “Mr. D’Amour will you please stop harassing me?”
“Harassing you?” He fell into step beside her. “I thought I was making a joke.”
She reached the door at the bottom of the stairs before giving him a look that would ignite coal. “I don’t want to joke with you, Mr. D’Amour,” she said determinedly. “I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want to see you. Does that make our relationship quite clear?”
His pleasant expression fading, he watched her for a strained moment before he took hold of the doorknob and turned it. “Quite clear, Miss Crosby.” Stepping back he allowed her to precede him. “I’m going to need a table. My contractor is coming by this morning with the remodeling plans.”
Much to Elissa’s dismay, he kept up with her on the stairs. Her shoulder brushed his arm several times and his scent was hard to miss in the confined stairway—something like tobacco with a trace of cedar. She inhaled deciding the scent was pleasantly manly. What a shame it was wasted on Alex D’Amour.
“Miss Crosby?” Hearing him speak pulled her back. She glanced his way as they reached the top of the stairs. “A table?” he repeated.
She was startled that she’d let her mind drift away. With a disgruntled exhale, she faced him. “In the parlor there’s a bridge table in the comer that isn’t used often.”
He nodded. “I’m sure I can find it. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“Don’t worry.”
They were in the short hallway where the basement staircase faced the back door. To their left was the kitchen, to the right was the staircase hall and dining room.
“Something smells good,” he said.
Ignoring him, Elissa turned into the kitchen where every burner on the stove held a steamy pot or pan. Somehow, Bella managed to feed twelve to fifteen guests breakfast every day and still keep the kitchen spotless. Elissa glanced around at the familiar Monday morning fare: blueberry waffles, sausages, scrambled eggs, choices of juices, coffee or tea. It smelled like heaven in the homey kitchen. Elissa greeted the plump cook with as carefree a wave as she could manage. “How’s it coming, Bella? Full house?”
Bella chortled, swiping her forehead with the hem of her starched apron. “Yes, ma’am. You know how it is here at Christmas. So much to do, everybody wanting to get up and out and about.”
Elissa knew all too well. In Branson the Christmas season was their busiest, next to summer. By many it was considered the best time to visit, with their Ozark Mountain Christmas and spectacular Festival of Lights. And with two hundred factory outlet stores, the Ozark’s “Little Las Vegas” was a Mecca for Christmas shoppers. Elissa had grown to love the holidays in Branson, with its quaint, country appeal. The idea of having to leave tore at her.
Bella said something, and Elissa tried to refocus on business. “Yes?”
“I said half the guests were waiting for me at seven. So most everybody’s already eaten.”
Elissa glanced at her watch. “Really? It’s only seventhirty now.”
Bella’s lilting chortle filled the warm kitchen. “I guess we don’t have any late-sleepers this week.”
Elissa managed a smile. “Then, you’ll get a nice long break this morning.”
Bella nodded. “I plan to put my feet up, have some coffee and daydream.”
“Have any of the guests signed up to be here for dinner tonight or are they all staying in town?”
“Town,” Bella said with a smile. “Except for that charming Mr. D‘Amour. He’ll be here.” Shuffling to the stove, she stirred a fresh batch of eggs. “Nice intimate dinner, just you two. A pleasant way to get to know your neighbor, don’t you think?” Shifting back, her expression grew expectant. “Fine looking man, that Mr. D’Amour. And so rich. You two make a handsome couple, I’d say.”
Elissa blanched, peering over her shoulder to see if the “fine looking” man in question was standing there. For once luck was with her. Apparently he’d gone to join the others in the dining room. Breathing a sigh, she glanced at her cook, trying not to show her aversion to the idea of eating alone with the man. “Oh—Mr. D’Amour is just a—a—new neighbor, Bella. That’s all there is to it.”
The cook didn’t appear convinced, but glanced away as the waffle iron light indicated another batch was done. “Of course, Miss Elissa, now you go on and have yourself some breakfast.” She waved a spatula toward the dining room. “There’s only that cute Thoron couple and the Parracks left. And—” Bella shambled over to get the waffle serving plate off the kitchen table, glancing at Elissa “—and your new neighbor.” She smiled shrewdly, and Elissa didn’t like the look of it. Clearly the fact that Mr. D’Amour was sleeping in the basement had started the gossip going among the help. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Did they think she was having a quickie affair with a man she’d just met? Well, that couldn’t be helped. She supposed it was better than having them panicking about losing their jobs right before Christmas.
She contrived a smile and pivoted toward the pantry, the shortcut into the dining room. The first sound that assailed her was the rich laughter of her unwelcome lodger. She stepped through the door, distressed to see the young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Thoron leaving. The Parracks were already gone. Mr. D’Amour stood to shake Mr. Thoron’s hand and nod toward his petite wife. Bella’s gaunt, silent kitchen helper, Ramona, was clearing away dishes, her eyes downcast, as she pretended not to exist.
When Alex D’Amour started to seat himself, he saw Elissa lingering in the pantry entrance, and remained standing. “Are you joining me, Miss Crosby?”
She felt caught. Timid Ramona was approaching the pantry entrance burdened with dirty dishes, clearly unsettled that the doorway was blocked. Sidestepping into the dining room, Elissa gave the poor, shy dear an escape route.
As uncomfortable as she could ever remember being, Elissa fought for poise. “I was going to get a cup of coffee,” she lied, heading for the sideboard where the coffee urn sat. Grabbing a mug, she held it beneath the spigot trying to ignore the feel of his gaze on her back.
“The food’s delicious,” he said.
“Of course it is.” With an irritated swipe she shut off the valve and shifted to scowl at him. “I’m offended that you’re continually surprised by the quality of my inn, Mr. D’Amour.”
“Alex,” he said, returning his attention to his plate and taking up his fork. “Don’t let your pride make you go hungry, Elissa. Sit down. Eat.”
Her fingers tightened on her mug. “Don’t call me Elissa,” she spat in a whisper. “We are not friends.”
He peered her way. “Can’t you understand that I’m not stealing this place from you. It’s mine. If you’d care to show me receipts I’ll reimburse you for any improvements you’ve made.” He shifted in his chair, leaning a forearm on the tablecloth to better face her. “I don’t want to be unfair.”
Receipts? Improvements? What about the inn itself? She and her sisters had pooled every penny they had in order to buy it. Besides, running this place was her dream, her life. And he talked about unfair? It seemed that the loss of a person’s life savings and dreams were insignificant details to this tough-as-nails litigator, who obviously had a calculator for a heart. Hysterical laugher gurgled in her throat. “Well, Mr. D’Amour, aren’t you a prince.” Slamming the mug on the table she eyed him with hostility. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business in town.”
Though Elissa found herself tensing up every time she went out to the mailbox, she was relieved that there had been no more threatening letters. Thank heaven. The first one that frightened her so, had undoubtedly been a random act by someone with too much time on his hands and very little social conscience. Hadn’t the police suggested just that? And since there weren’t any discernible fingerprints on the letter, their investigation had gone nowhere, anyway.
With great relief, she put her silly fears from her mind, determining to move on. She had enough troubles with Alex D’Amour and his very real threat to take away her property.
The inn remained filled to capacity all week, and Elissa was too busy to dwell on the Alex D’Amour problem. She was grateful for small favors.
Though he was gone most of the day with his contractors, he invariably returned in time for dinner. A couple of evenings that week, new arrivals checked in just in time for the evening meal, but even with extra people present, Elissa couldn’t choke down her food while those cold eyes hounded her every move. After the third evening under his scrutiny, she’d made an excuse to Bella that she had a lot of paper work to do, and ate the rest of her evening meals at her desk.
Tonight, she couldn’t even force down her food in the privacy of her office. She kept checking her watch. Any minute her sisters and their families would arrive. What was she going to do about Mr. D’Amour? What was she going to tell her sisters? She couldn’t ruin their Christmas with the news that she might lose the inn as well as their investment in it.
And worse. Her old law professor, Dr. Grayson, had no good news about her ownership. No news, really. The holidays were a terrible time to try to get anything done. It seemed that anyone in government offices who had any authority was on vacation. She was so frustrated she wanted to scream.
She toyed with her coffee cup, closing her eyes in a silent prayer that this would not be the last Christmas she would spend here. And, if the worst happened and it was, that this holiday not be spoiled for her sisters by the heartless heir to the D’Amour property.
A knock at the office door jarred her, and her eyes snapped open. “Who is it?”
“Alex. I need to use your fax.”
She bowed her head, fighting off a bout of anxious queasiness. “Come in,” she called. “We need to talk.”
The door squeaked opened, and Elissa pushed up from her chair, straightening her navy wool skirt more out of uneasiness than need.
“This is unusual,” he said as she twisted to face him. “No hurling insults? No barring of the door? No threats of beheading?” He stopped behind her chair, brows lifting in question. “I gather you’ve poisoned my stew and you want to watch me die.”
She crossed her arms before her and sat back against her desk. “My favorite fantasy—but no.”
He cocked his head, looking cautious. “I know you haven’t heard good news from your lawyer friend, because there won’t be any.”
She gritted her teeth, biting back a sharp denial. She didn’t have the luxury of time to fight with him. “Look,” she said through a resigned sigh. “I have to ask you a favor.”
His gaze narrowed, and she could see high skepticism in his expression. “I refuse to jump off the roof.”
Eyeing heaven, she clutched her hands together. “Be serious.” She checked her watch again, then reclasped her hands. “There’s not much time.”
The crease in his brow deepened. “For what?”
“My...” She swallowed. “My family is coming for Christmas. I don’t want them upset by this—this misunderstanding about the inn.”
“Miss Crosby, you must face the—”
“So!” she interrupted, “I want you to go along with my plan to tell them we’re old friends from law school.”
“Law school?” He looked skeptical. “What are you, around thirty, thirty-two, tops? I’m thirty-eight, Miss Crosby. I graduated from Harvard Law, and I was in practice before you—”
“Okay, okay!” She shook her head. “Say we met at some law conference or something.”
“And what?”
Unsettled by his cross examination, she broke eye contact, absently scanning the gray cement walls. “I don’t know. We became friends, I suppose. What else?”
“No. We had an affair.”
She jerked to stare at him. “What?”
He shrugged, his eyes glittering eerily. “Why else would I be here?”
“Lots of men have platonic female friends.”
“I don’t.” His grin was revealing. The woman in her knew—without a doubt—that no female who had ever befriended Alex D’Amour had any desire to keep the relationship platonic. “This could be fun,” he went on. “Of course, if we use that lie, I’d have to sleep with you.”
She stared, stunned, then saw the sparkle in his eyes and realized he was baiting her. “That’s very funny, Mr. D’Amour. Does that line work for you?”
“Apparently not.” He grinned crookedly, clearly far from crushed by her rejection. “It’s worth thinking about, though.”
“Let me do the thinking. It’s less dangerous.”
“If you must.” He placed his hands on the back of her office chair. “But, while you’re thinking, Miss Crosby, think K-I-S-S.”
She scowled at him. Couldn’t he get off sex? Did he think he was so irresistible that she would be willing to stoop to anything to get his help? “Mr. D’Amour, do you do all your thinking with your—”
“Keep it simple, stupid,” he interjected. “Didn’t you learn that in law school? K-I-S-S.”
As the acronym soaked in, her cheeks heated. Just who was the one who couldn’t get her mind off sex? “Oh...”
“I find that the simplest story is usually the best. If you must lie to your family, tell them I own the D’Amour mansion, that I’m staying here while it’s remodeled and that we’ve become friends.”
After a moment, she nodded, acknowledging that the idea had merit. “And—and since you didn’t have a reservation,” she improvised, “I had to put you down here in the basement.”
His expression had grown serious. A tensing along his jaw drew her attention. “What’s wrong now? It was your idea.”
He leaned forward, over the chair back. Elissa had the urge to clamber onto her desk to put distance between them, but she resisted. “Are you sure you want to lie? Wouldn’t you rather have your family join you in staring daggers at me?”
“Of course I would,” she admitted, then shook her head. “But I want their holiday here to be happy. Besides, once I’ve proven my ownership, they’ll never have to know there was a problem.” Making reluctant eye contact, she tried to seem confident, but the act was tainted when she adjusted her suit jacket and toyed with the buttons.
He clenched his jaw. “I may joke about it, Miss Crosby, but frankly, I don’t like lying.”
“I don’t care what you like.” She bit her tongue. This was no time to make him mad. Shaking herself for her outburst she eased her features and her voice. “If you have an ounce of humanity in you, you’ll do this for my family’s sake.”
He eyed her with cynicism. “I don’t give a damn about families.”
“Miss Elissa!” came Bella’s shout from the top of the stairs. “Your sisters are here.”
Witnessing Alex D’Amour’s unyielding expression, Elissa’s heart fell into a deep, dark well.
CHAPTER THREE
ALEX D‘AMOUR’S expression was uncompromising, and panic rose inside Elissa. What could she offer this ruthless man to make him help her? In a last-ditch attempt, she pleaded, “I’m begging you, Mr. D’Amour.” Her voice cracked, and she hated the sound of her weakness. Hated to have to ask anything of him.
She’d always been the strong one, the big sister Helen and Lucy depended on—ever since Mother had died. She’d only been nine, but her grief-stricken father had been no comfort to the three young girls. Even after Elissa had gone to law school she’d been there for her family, calling home every night to make herself available to listen to their problems or fears. Daddy had come to depend on her, too, when the illness that finally took his life incapacitated him. Helen and Lucy continued to count on her. She’d been mothering her sisters almost all their lives, and she didn’t intend to fail them now.
She would not allow Alex’s claim on her property to cast a pall over the holidays. She saw her sisters so rarely since they’d married, she refused to inflict pain on them during their short visit. But in order to protect them, she needed Alex D’Amour’s help.
Swallowing to steady her voice, she asked, just above a whisper, “If you won’t do it for my family, what—what would you do it for?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, emphasizing the place where she had wounded him nearly a week ago. Shuttered eyes scanned her face, making her feel like a flea about to be swatted. As time stretched into an agonizing eternity, her emotions became as taut as violin strings. Finally he muttered, “I’ll do it for you.”
She was confused, not sure she’d heard right. “For—me?” Visions of demanded sexual favors flashed through her mind. She bit out her reply, “No matter how badly I need your help, I won’t sleep with you.”
His low chuckle was humorless. “Don’t panic, Miss Crosby, I don’t force women into my bed.” He turned away, presenting her with his grim profile. “I just figure I can do that much for you.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He’d agreed, and there were no strings. Clearly he was less than delighted about it, but he was going to keep the secret. That’s what mattered.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, she stumbled around the chair and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr. D’Amour.” She could feel his body go taut against hers in his surprise, and that reminded her exactly who he was and why he was there. What did she think she was doing? She backed away, mortified.
She noticed his hands had stilled in a half-raised position, almost a defensive gesture. She came close to smiling about that. Could she blame him for anticipating an attack? After all, the only other times she’d made contact with his body she’d clawed him, kneed him, then tried to knee him, again.
Avoiding his gaze she focused on his cleft chin, striving to appear all business. “Uh, you can call me Elissa and I’ll call you Alex. Okay?”
He smiled, but there was precious little humor there. “Why didn’t I think of that.”
“Miss Elissa?” Bella called again.
Her heart constricted. “Oh dear...” Was she going to be able to carry off this farce? Could she keep her worries from her family? “Oh—dear...”
A hand, big and warm, encircled her elbow. Until that second, she hadn’t realized how cold she was. “Let’s go, Elissa dear.” He tugged her into movement. “How’s this?” Light-headed with trepidation, she glanced at his face. He grinned down at her in a way that reeked of affection. He was really good “Now you try,” he coaxed.
She inhaled, attempting to arrange her face in a smile.
He chuckled as she battled to fake a pleasant demeanor. “This is your lie, Miss Crosby. If you want to look believable, unclench your teeth.”
She tried again.
“Better.” He aimed her toward the steps. “Should I put my arm around you?”
“No!” She drew away. “We don’t have to be that friendly. Maybe just, er, acquaintances is fine. The point is, I don’t want you to mention the—you know.” She could feel her nerve draining away. It had never occurred to her that her little white lie might include physical contact.
He took her arm again when he saw that she was hesitating. “Okay, Miss Acquaintance. Just so we’re acquainted enough that we don’t claw each other in the face or knee each other in our private parts. Deal?”
She slanted him a look, her lips twitching in what was trying to be a smile. Dam the man; his easygoing charm was getting to her. Apparently her gratefulness was making her feeble-witted. “I make no promises.”
Laughter rumbled in his throat. “I love a woman of mystery.”
The mellow timbre of his mirth rankled her, not so much because she didn’t like the sound of it, but because she did.
Much of Elissa’s. anxiety melted away when she entered the noisy commotion going on in the reception hall. Her sisters, Lucy and Helen, and their husbands, Jack and Damien, laughed and chatted and carried in luggage. Since their flights had arrived within the same hour, they’d decided to rent a car and drive down from Springfield together.
When Elissa spied her nieces, Gilly and Glory, scampering among a forest of suitcases and adult legs, she managed a real smile. Hurrying into the fray, she hunkered down to toddler level. “Where are my girls?” She stretched out welcoming arms. “How about a kiss for Aunt Elissa?”
Giggly squeals answered her. Seconds later she was plowed into by twin, chubby projectiles, who had their daddy’s dark hair and their mommy’s bright, gray eyes. Shy little Elissa Gillian, her namesake, planted a cool, sloppy kiss on her cheek.
Elissa hugged them close, her heart turning over with a mixture of joy and sadness. Where would they all be a year from today? Shaking off the thought, she stood, hoisting the twins in her arms. She would do no negative thinking. “Okay, you all can go now,” she kidded. “I have my Christmas presents.”
“Okay, Red,” Damien teased, his arm around Helen’s waist. “If you want the little darlings, they’re yours. But I warn you, they’re almost into their terrible two’s.”
Helen jabbed him with an elbow. “Hush. She’ll take you up on it.”
He laughed, releasing his wife to kiss his encumbered sister-in-law. “How’ve you been?” Damien’s gaze searched her face as though he detected something was wrong. Even half-blind and sporting an eyepatch, he was much too perceptive. “I’m about to keel over,” she lied with a forced laugh. “What have you been feeding these young ladies, rocks?” Handing the giggling, squirming toddlers to their daddy, she embraced Helen, kissing her cheek. “You look fabulous,” she whispered. “Damien must be doing his job.”
Helen laughed. “Oh, yes.” She kissed her sister back. “Yes indeed.”
“Hey,” came another familiar male voice. “Where’s my kiss?”
Elissa released her baby sister and grinned at her other brother-in-law, Jack Gallagher. With mock consternation, she shook her head at him. “You’re getting handsomer; you aren’t supposed to do that. You’re supposed to go fat and lose all that sexy brown hair.”
He winked at her, pulling her into his embrace. “And you’re supposed to get hippy and crotchety.”
“Why, Jack,” she said with affront “I pride myself on my crotchetiness, and I’m working on hippy.”
Jack laughed as they hugged. Lucy came up to take her sister’s hands. “It’s good to be back. The place is beautiful with all the decorations. I love the lights and greenery around the windows. It looked so festive as we drove up. I can’t imagine anywhere else on earth where I’d rather spend Christmas.”
Lucy’s heartfelt statement stabbed Elissa, but she hid the pain. When her sister’s soft blue eyes lifted over Elissa’s shoulder, her smile grew curious. “Who’s this?” Elissa’s stomach churned. She knew exactly who Lucy meant
Hesitantly she shifted to peer at Alex as he watched the hustle and bustle, his expression oddly troubled. She was surprised. She’d expected to see that really-good-lie-of-a-grin on his face. Before she had time to react, Damien walked up to the stranger, extending a hand around the fidgety bundle he was holding in the crook of that arm. “I’m Damien Lord, and the pretty lady in the maroon tunic and leggings is Helen, my wife. These wiggly-worms are our girls, Gillian and Gloriana.
Helen extended a hand, which Alex took. Then by some sort of identical-twin brain wave, two pudgy baby hands flew out, flapping in a childish burlesque of their parents actions. Though Alex had released Helen’s fingers, Elissa noted that he looked puzzled about the girls, not seeming to know what to do. Clearly he didn’t have any experience with females under the age of consent. “I’m Alex D’Amour.” He gave Damien an inquiring look. “Aren’t you the author and political columnist?”
“Yes,” Damien said with a grin. “And aren’t you the lawyer who won that big toxic waste case in California not long ago?”
Now it was Alex’s turn to smile. “Ex-lawyer. I’ve decided to become a gentleman landowner. Between the Santa Anna fires, earthquakes and working eighty hours a week, I knew some changes had to be made in my life.”
“D‘Amour?” Helen repeated with a gasp. “The same D’Amour who owns the estate?”
“The same.”
Touching her husband’s arm, she said, “Then you must have met Damien before. He rented it from you a few years back.”
“No, honey,” Damien said. “A friend of mine knew a lawyer in New York who was overseeing the property for the heirs. I rented it through the lawyer.”
“My parents live in Europe, ”Alex said. “Since there was no will, my father inherited the property. He could never bring himself to sell it, but didn’t have much use for a drafty old place in the boonies. Then last summer a will was found in a piece of furniture that belonged to my grandparents’ lawyer, who died around the same time they did, when I was five. Until the desk was sold at auction a few months ago, no one knew a will existed .”
“And that will left the property to you?” Helen asked with a delighted smile.
Alex grinned back, his dimples appallingly sexy. “Right. I was only notified last spring that I’d inherited. That was the catalyst for me to make the move.”
Elissa gathered her composure and wove her way through bodies and baggage to stand beside him, desperately uncomfortable, but determined. She smiled with difficulty, knowing it was time to call this—this—trespasser by his first name. “Isn’t it nice that Alex is going to restore the mansion?” she said, rushing on, “He’s staying here during the remodeling—since my inn’s so convenient.” She faced Alex, working to make her smile look real. “Isn’t that right?”
He grinned down at her, and though she knew his expression was as false as hers, it was breathtaking, with those lush-lashed silver eyes and deep, slashing dimples. “Exactly, Elissa.” His gaze was so affectionate she wanted to kick him. He was doing it on purpose, the conniving bum! Wasn’t he causing her enough trouble without this?
“Well, well...” Lucy came forward hand in hand with Jack. She looked speculatively at her elder sister. “You’re both ex-lawyers and you’re neighbors, too. How nice.” She took his hand. “It’s so good to meet you, Alex. Your mansion has played a strong part in our lives. Of course Elissa has told you about that.” She smiled up at him.
His grin broadened, which was no surprise to Elissa. Lucy, beautiful and blond, had turned more than one man to mush with that smile. “Really?” He lifted a brow. “No, Elissa hasn’t said a thing.”
“The D’Amour myth? You do know about the myth,” Lucy prodded.
With Alex’s puzzled expression, Elissa grew nervous. The last thing she needed was for her sisters to discover she’d slept inside the mansion on her birthday. Under a full moon, yet!
She certainly had no intention of letting them find out that Alex had been the first man she’d seen that morning. Since both Helen and Lucy believed in the silly story, that bit of news would only complicate an already lousy problem.
“No, I don’t believe I’ve heard of any myth.”
“Uh, Alex, have you met Jack Gallagher?” Elissa interjected abruptly. “He owns a few restaurants here and there.” She hoped her tone was lighthearted, because she sure didn’t feel that way. “The newest one is right here in Branson.”
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
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