Cinderella's Prince Under The Mistletoe. Cara Colter

of him?

      “There seems to be a bit of blood here.” He leaned in closer, so close that his breath tickled her toes and made her feel slightly faint. “And just a tiny bit of glass. I think I can remove it with tweezers, if you can point me in the direction of some. A first aid kit, perhaps?”

      “On the wall over there.” Her voice, in her own ears, sounded faintly breathless, as croaky as a frog singing a night song.

      He set her foot down carefully, stood and crossed the room. She took this brief respite from his touch to try and marshal herself, to slow down the beat of her heart.

      She told herself it was a reaction to the circumstances, to the adrenaline rush of waking to a crash in the night and preparing to do battle with the unknown, and not a reaction to his rather unnervingly masculine touch and presence.

      But as soon as he returned with the first aid kit and knelt at her feet again, she knew it had nothing to do with the circumstances. Even in the dark, his hair was shiny. There was a little rooster tail sticking up from where he had slept on it. She had to fight the urge to smooth it back down.

      A nervous giggle escaped her as he picked up her foot again, his hand warm, strong, unconsciously sensual.

      “Am I tickling?” His voice—deep, and with that faintly exotic accent—was as unconsciously sensual as his touch.

      Her giggle deepened, and he smiled quizzically.

      Oh, that smile! Though somehow it seemed familiar, she realized it was the first time she had seen it. It changed his entire countenance from faintly stern and unquestionably remote. His smile made him even more handsome. He appeared dangerously approachable, and as if he was quite capable of enchanting people with hidden boyish charm.

      “No,” she managed to gasp out, “not tickling. It’s just this situation strikes me as being preposterous. I have a prince at my feet? Somehow when I got up this morning, I could not have predicted this event in my day.”

      “Yesterday morning,” he corrected her, absently. “It’s already a brand-new day.”

      She contemplated that. It was, indeed, a new day, ripe with potential, full of surprises. When was the last time she had allowed herself to be delighted by the unexpected? A long, long time ago. Since her breakup with Kevin, she realized now, she had tried desperately to keep tight control on everything in her world.

      “It’s true,” he continued, and she detected an unexpected edge of harshness to his voice, “that sometimes we cannot predict the surprises our days will hold.”

      “Ouch.”

      “Sorry.”

      Tentatively, she said, “You said that as if you’ve had an unpleasant surprise recently.” She realized she was being much too forward and was glad for the darkness in the room that hid her sudden blush of insecurity. “Your Highness.”

      He looked at her. “Shall we just be Luca and Imogen for a little while?”

      His invitation to familiarity was quite a bit more stunning than hers had been. It was as stunning as finding a prince at her feet, giving tender loving care to her very minor wounds.

      Maybe she was dreaming! If she was dreaming, would she give in to the temptation to reach out and touch the dark silk of his hair? Her fingertips tingled with wanting.

      She tucked her hands under her thighs.

      “Luca,” she said experimentally, and then, “Ouch!”

      “It’s a bit of disinfectant. It’ll just sting for a second.”

      Had he done that on purpose? To distract her from the question she had asked about his recent unpleasant surprise?

      He finished with her foot, cleaning and bandaging it with exquisite sensitivity. Imogen had to steel herself over and over again from gasping, not with pain, but delight.

      “That’s great,” she said, the second he was finished. She started to get up. “Thank you.”

      His hand on her shoulder stayed her. “Don’t get up yet. I have shoes on. Let me find all the broken glass and clean it up.”

      “No, I’ll just—”

      “Do as you’re told?” he suggested drily.

      Despite herself, she giggled again.

      He lifted an eyebrow at her. “What?”

      “I can clearly see you are used to telling people what to do, but I was just wondering if you’ve ever cleaned up anything before in your whole life? It doesn’t seem very...er...princely somehow.”