Postcards At Christmas. Cara Colter

the side door she’d used when she left. The same guard was there. He ushered her inside and then punched at his handheld device again, probably checking her off as safely returned.

      By then it was after three. Past bedtime and then some. She went up to her room and flopped down on the bed and pressed her fingertips to the ridge of scar tissue between her breasts and thought about how she ought to be tired.

      But she wasn’t. It was a miracle, really, to be so strong. To stay up half the night, to run down the hill called Cap Royale on which the Prince’s Palace stood, have a big fight with her brother and then run back up again—and still have energy to spare.

      She was wide-awake. In fact, she just knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep yet.

      Not until she’d talked to Dami.

      Yes. Absolutely. She needed to talk to Dami right away.

      Tonight.

       Chapter Four

      Damien woke when the knocking started.

      He squinted at the digital clock by the bed. Three thirty-six on Friday morning. And he knew instantly who it would be.

      Lucy, of course, with some issue she just had to settle now.

      He wasn’t annoyed, though he absolutely ought to have been. And it never even occurred to him not to get up and answer. He did, however, take a moment to pull on a soft pair of trousers and a black sweater.

      When he reached the outer door of his apartment, he hesitated, aware of a rising sensation in his midsection, of the too-rapid beating of his heart: anticipation.

      Yes.

      Excitement.

      Definitely.

      He smiled to himself. He was being absurd. How could he just know it would be Lucy? And why was he rushing to the door when he fully intended to call an early end to their time together?

      Ridiculous. Laughable.

      It was probably only some random palace guest lost on the wrong floor, knocking on the nearest door in hopes of being pointed in the right direction.

      The knock came again. He opened the door.

      And there she was just as he’d known she would be, in a big floppy sweater and skinny little jeans and the cutest pair of pink high-top canvas shoes.

      Something disconcerting happened inside his chest. He rigorously ignored it. “Luce. My darling.” He lounged against the door frame and tried to look exhausted and thoroughly put out. “Did you notice? It’s past three in the morning and once again you’ve dragged me from my comfortable bed.”

      She glowed at him. “It’s really late, I know. I’m being unbelievably rude. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have to talk to you.”

      Just as he’d expected. She had to talk to him.

      No. Absolutely not. He needed to gently but firmly send her away. And then tomorrow at a decent hour, he could take her aside and explain to her that he’d seen the light as to their holiday weekend together. He hated to back out on her, but the whole thing was off.

      Yes. That was exactly what he should do.

      He peeled himself off the door frame, stepped back and pulled the door wider. “Do you want coffee?”

      “No, nothing. Just to talk.” She chose the first door off the entry, which led to his sitting room. He gestured toward the two sofas facing each other on either side of the fireplace with its carved Louis Quinze red-marble mantel. She took one sofa and he took the other.

      He felt way too excited and also on edge. So he made a show of getting comfortable, resting one arm along the sofa back, hitching one ankle across his knee. “What brings you from bed at this time of the night?”

      She leaned toward him and braced her forearms on her thighs, folding her hands in front of her knees. “Oh, I haven’t been to bed yet. I went to see Noah.”

      The back of his neck went tight. He lifted his hand from the sofa and rubbed at it. “You dragged him from bed, too?”

      “I’m afraid I did, yeah.”

      “And how did that go?”

      “It was pretty rocky.” Her expression belied her words. She was grinning, pleased with herself.

      “Luce. What are you telling me?”

      She sighed and sagged back against the cushions. “The weekend. That’s what we’ve got, you and me, to maybe make something happen. I’ve got no time to fool around here. I realized I needed to deal with Noah right away. He was giving me dirty looks all night. And I know he was looking at you the same way.”

      He tried a lazy shrug—though he didn’t feel the least lazy. “It’s hardly a surprise that he wouldn’t be happy seeing the two of us together. Your brother’s my friend. But he doesn’t want me paying too much attention to his sister. He sees that there’s no future in that for either of us and he doesn’t want you hurt.”

      She sat forward again. “That’s pretty much what he said. But we both know he was wrong. You won’t do anything to hurt me. You would never hurt me, Dami. It’s not how you are.”

      “Luce. That’s exactly how I am. Don’t you know about me? I grow bored too easily. And when I do, I move on.”

      She raised her hands, spread them wide and then waved them in circles. “Oh, don’t be silly. You know what I mean. We have an understanding. You’re, er, helping me, or you might help me. I mean, we’re being together in a dating sort of way, and then maybe, if the feeling is right, we’ll get down to the part where we take off our clothes and have great sex... Well, I mean, I would hope that it would be great. But even if it isn’t, that’s okay, too. I mean, I’ve heard that it’s often pretty awkward the first time and I...” She let the words trail off as color flooded upward over her sweet round cheeks. “Ugh. I seriously hope to become more smooth and sophisticated by hanging with you. So far it’s not happening.”

      He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to be sophisticated. She was far too enchanting already. But extolling her charms was not the goal here. “And did you explain to Noah that you plan to end up in my bed?”

      Her slim back snapped straight. “Are you kidding me? Please. Some things are none of his business—including what’s really going on between you and me.”

      Dami reminded himself again that he needed to tell her this had to stop. But he kept forgetting what he needed to do because of what he wanted to do—which was to touch her. He ached to get up and sit on the other sofa with her, and the ache made a very distracting prickly feeling beneath his skin. He said flatly, “Your brother only wants you to be happy.”

      “Oh, Dami, come on. What he wants is for me to be safe. And to him that means under his control. If he had it his way, I would be back in California sitting around in my room. He wants me to be where he can check on me at regular intervals just to make certain I don’t need medical attention, stat, even though I’ve been well and strong for two years now. He still has issues because our parents died, because of all the times I almost died. He’s getting better at letting me make my own decisions about things, but he’s not all the way there yet.”

      As always, she was thoroughly out-talking him—which on the one hand, he found frustrating. On the other hand, he only wanted her to go on talking. He only wanted to get up and sit on the other sofa with her and hear her lovely, breathless voice in his ear as he brushed his hand against her cheek and breathed in the scent of her skin and pressed his lips to her hair.

      He stayed where he was and soldiered on. “I’m trying to tell you that Noah’s right to be annoyed with you and to be angry at me.”

      “No. No, he is not