Fairytale Christmas: Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
a touch desperately.
The lines carved into his cheeks became deeper, bracketing his mouth. And the silver sparks in his eyes had not been reflections of the Christmas decorations, she realised, but were all his own. It was all there now. Every part of his face was engaged and while it wasn’t a pretty smile, it was all the more dangerous for that.
‘Not my decision, thank goodness. Human Resources have the responsibility of employing the best person for the job and keeping me on the right side of the law.’
She tutted. ‘Passing the buck.’
‘There has to be some advantage to go with the name,’ he replied, ‘but, as far as fairy godmothers go, right now I’m not just your best option, I appear to be the only one.’
‘Oh?’ she said, putting on a brave front. If she was going down, she refused to be a pushover. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because if there had been anyone you could ask for help you wouldn’t be hiding out in Santa’s grotto dressed as an elf. You’d have used the phone you were carrying to call them.’
‘Who says I’m hiding?’ she demanded. ‘That I need help.’
‘The fact that you’re here, prepared to risk getting caught on the premises after closing, speaks for itself.’
She couldn’t argue with his logic. He had it, spot on, but she still had the backup excuse. ‘I’m just late leaving,’ she said. ‘I needed a shower before I start my other job.’
He shook his head.
‘You’re not buying it?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Oh, well. It was worth a shot.’ She managed a shrug even though her heart was hammering in her mouth. ‘So. What happens now?’
‘I congratulate you on your ingenuity?’ he suggested. ‘Ask how you managed to get yourself kitted out with an elf costume so that you could hide out in Santa’s grotto?’
‘I’m smart?’
‘Obviously. But, if you managed it, there are security issues involved.’
‘Oh, look, it wasn’t anyone’s fault,’ she said quickly. Clearly the game was up for her, but she couldn’t allow anyone else to suffer. ‘I was mistaken for a temp who was expected but never turned up and it was too good an opportunity to miss. Pam won’t get into trouble, will she? She was desperate. Not just desperate but sick,’ she stressed. ‘Well, you know that since you took her home.’
‘Don’t worry about Pam, worry about yourself,’ he said, the smile fading.
She shivered. Not from fear. This man was not a bully. He wasn’t crowding her, there was no suggestion of the physical threat that had seemed so real in the press conference. Why she’d run.
He was much more dangerous than that.
He could bring her down with a look. As if to prove it, he reached for a dry towel and draped it around her shoulders, assuming that she was cold. His touch tingled through her and she knew that all he had to do was put his hand to her back and she’d put up her hands, surrender without a struggle.
Fortunately, he didn’t know that.
‘What were you planning to do next?’ he asked, not lingering, but taking a step back, putting clear air between them.
‘Get dressed?’ she suggested.
‘And then?’ he persisted.
‘I thought I might bed down in one of your tents.’ There seemed little point in lying about it. ‘I noticed them yesterday when I was Christmas shopping. I’ve never been camping,’ she added.
‘It’s overrated. Especially in the middle of winter.’
‘I don’t know. I could brew myself some tea on one of those little camp stoves. Fry a few sausages for my supper. I’d leave the money for the food on the till in the food hall.’ She clutched the towel a little more tightly against her bosom. ‘Maybe have a bit of a sing-song to keep my spirits up,’ she added a touch recklessly. ‘I did work for three hours for nothing. And I was planning to work tomorrow on the same terms. Bed and breakfast seems a reasonable exchange.’
‘More than reasonable,’ he agreed. ‘Which one did you have your eye on?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Which tent? I can recommend the one-man Himalayan. I’m told that it’s absolutely draught-proof.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, thanks.’
‘I’d strongly advise against the cooking, though. The security staff are based on the same floor and the smoke alarms are extremely sensitive.’
LUCY swallowed hard. Was he joking? It was impossible to tell. When he wasn’t smiling, Nathaniel Hart could give lessons in how to do a poker face.
‘Well, thanks for the tip,’ she managed. ‘I’ve got a bag of crisps and a chocolate biscuit that I bought from the machine. They’ll keep me going.’
He shook his head and a lick of thick dark hair slid across his forehead.
‘That won’t do,’ he said, combing it back with long fingers. ‘Chocolate biscuits and crisps aren’t going to provide you with your five-a-day.’
Her five-a-day? She stared him. Unreal. The man was not only conspiring with her to trespass in his department store, but he was concerned that she was eating healthily. Consuming the government’s daily recommended five portions of fruit and vegetables…
Or had he already summoned Rupert and was simply amusing himself at her expense while he waited for him to arrive and remove her?
Of course he was. Why was she even wasting time thinking about it?
‘Who are you? The food police?’ she demanded crossly. At least that was the intent but his hand was still on her arm, his fingers warm against her goosepimply skin and she didn’t sound cross. She sounded breathless.
‘Hastings & Hart take a close interest in staff welfare. We have a cycle to work scheme—which is why you have the luxury of shower facilities—’
‘Luxury!’ Finally she got her voice back. But then there wasn’t much luxury in an unexpected ice-cold dunk.
‘—and subsidised gym membership as well as a healthy options menu in the staff canteen.’
And he’d driven Pam Wootton home when she was taken ill, she reminded herself. That was taking staff welfare very seriously indeed. Not many men in his position would have done that. It suggested that he was unusually kind, thoughtful and, about to tell herself that Rupert would never have done that, it occurred to her that he had. Done exactly that. And, as she’d just discovered, he was neither kind nor thoughtful.
‘Impressive, Mr Hart, but I’m only a temp. Temps don’t get fringe benefits.’
Not just a temp, but an illicit one at that. He might be a great employer but she had no more reason to trust him than he had to trust her.
‘Besides, the crisps are made from potatoes,’ she said, playing for time as she tried, desperately, to think what to do next. Pull away from his hand, for a start, obviously. Put some space between them…‘And they’re cheese and onion flavour.’
There were no windows down here, but even in the basement there had to be a fire escape. Or would Rupert have learned from her last dash for freedom and have those covered before he moved in?
Was that what all the time-wasting was about?
‘So potato and onion, that’s two of my