Her Mistletoe Husband. Renee Roszel

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.”