A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

know how you feel about me wearing a certain designer? What next? Are you going to order me to take the dress off?”

      She froze as soon as the words left her mouth, her gaze clashing with his.

      He took a moment to appreciate the way her dress formed to her figure. One thing was certain, his sister-in-law was talented. The gray sweater dress made the most of every curve, covering skin, but tantalizing all the same.

      And he wondered what exactly she might look like unwrapped for his pleasure. He’d done his best never to go there with her, really, he’d succeeded. She wasn’t his type. She was open, smiley and chipper. She wasn’t all self-contained and polished like an ice sculpture, not in the least.

      She was all cheer and broad gestures. And she was not his fiancée. She was engaged to another man, and he would be damned if he ever sunk that low.

      He would never be like his brother. Would never be like his father. Both seemed to do whatever they wanted in regards to women, but not Luc.

      He ignored the fierce twist in his gut and turned toward the bar in the corner. “I could use a drink.”

      “It’s still before noon.”

      “Not in New York.”

      “Blah!” she said. “So … what, I have to pretend to be your fiancée now?”

      “Only until tomorrow,” he said, walking over to the bar and pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

      “This ring,” she said, holding her hand up, “would be a pretty poor showing for a billionaire.”

      “I’ve only just started up the company, maybe I’m saving my money?”

      “Bah,” she said. “I would throw this back at you if that were your offering!”

      “But it was Clint’s offering, and you don’t seem to mind it coming from him.”

      “Clint,” she said, “is not a billionaire. He is a thousandaire, with an okay job. All things considered, this ring is pretty good.”

      “Such a double standard.”

      “Yeah, well,” she said, “you’re also a lot more demanding than Clint is, so … I think you’d owe me for putting up with your shenanigans.”

      “Shenanigans?” he repeated.

      “Yeah, your shenanigans. This? This right here? This fake engagement brouhaha is the definition of a shenanigan. It may even be high jinks.”

      “High jinks?”

      “Madcap ones!”

      He almost laughed at her. She was … she was just so very much. An explosion of color and movement, all the time. The ring, the one they’d just been discussing, caught the lights, glittering. Reminding him of the fact that he couldn’t notice. Not really.

      There was a knock at the door and Luc put down his drink. Amelia was just standing there. “I’ve got it,” he said, “don’t worry.”

      “Was I supposed to assist you in door answering? I’m not a butler.”

      He turned and headed to the door, opening it. “Yes?”

      There was a woman in a black uniform there, with a cart in front of her.

      “May I come in?”

      “Sure,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her entry while he examined the items on the cart. An ice bucket, champagne, a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. There was also a white envelope with his name on it.

      “Compliments of Mr. Fleischer,” she said. “He wanted you to experience the romance package the resort offers, both so that you could appreciate just what sort of draw couples might feel to the location, and for you and your fiancée.” She bowed slightly. “Enjoy.”

      “Merci,” Luc said as she walked back out of the hotel room. Then he turned to Amelia who was uncharacteristically quiet. “What is it, Amelia?”

      She shook her head. “Shenanigans.”

      “Why not enjoy?” he asked. “You wanted time off. Doesn’t this feel like time off?”

      “But I’m with you, and not my family or my …” she trailed off, worrying her lower lip.

      “Am I so bad?”

      “You are so my boss is all. Nothing personal.” She reached into the strawberry bowl and took out a piece of fruit, lifting it to her lips.

      There was nothing wrong with watching her eat a strawberry. Just a moment of enjoyment. It wasn’t touching. It wasn’t violating her engagement or their working relationship.

      It was just him taking a small moment, the first in a while, to remember that he was a man and not just an entrepreneur.

      She parted her lips and closed them over the tip of the berry, her eyes closing.

      He was getting heated watching that. And that was not appropriate workplace behavior. Even when that workplace was currently a romantic suite.

      Romance meant nothing to him, these surroundings meant nothing. This woman meant nothing.

      She hummed, low in her throat, the sound sending a kick of desire through him and proving his previous thought a lie. She did mean something. At least to his long-neglected libido. Fascination—which honesty compelled him to confess he’d felt for her from the moment they’d met—was twisting into something else. Something more intense. Something darker. Something he really couldn’t afford to feel.

      “Nothing personal at all,” he said, taking a strawberry from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. Then he poured himself a glass of champagne and picked the envelope up from the cart and opened it. “Look at that. A brochure of all the activities we’re entitled to partake in today.”

      “Goody. Since this is supposed to be vacationy, let me see.”

      He handed her the glossy, trifolded paper and waited while she perused it. She reached into the bowl and took out another berry, this time putting it into her mouth whole. Her dark brows knit together. “A massage,” she said. “Hmm. Well—” she looked up at him “—I could use one. My muscles are knotted. I’m a little stressed.”

      “You’re stressed?” he asked.

      She blinked. “A little.”

      “You’ve been singing a lot of Christmas carols for someone who’s stressed.”

      “Well, I acquired a lot of my stress today.” Her eyes narrowed.

      “Point taken.”

      “A ride on the tram over the mountain, to a restaurant at the summit. Wow. That sounds … high.”

      “Do you have a problem with heights?”

      “Not at all,” she said. “If you do, maybe I’ll take the tram ride, and you can get the massage except … I really do want the massage.”

      “We can’t do things separately,” he said.

      “Well, then, the massage is off the … massage table. Because I’m not getting oiled up with you.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Well, that was a little bit more … out there than I meant it to be.” She cleared her throat. “How about this tram? We can ride it to the top for lunch.”

      “Is food all you think about?”

      “Hey, I’ve now watched you pour two alcoholic beverages very early in the day, so if we’re going to get judgmental you’re going to lose this round, my friend.”

      “All right, lunch it is.”

      “I’m thinking cheeseburger.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes, Luc. Really. Because