Fairytale Christmas: Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas

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.’

Chapter Five (#ub9b24fe9-04dc-5c4b-b7b4-d2ac7aa190d5)

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 five,’ she added, wishing she’d spent more time thinking about her escape instead of day-dreaming about a dishy stranger while she dressed teddy bears. ‘There’s the protein from the cheese, too, don’t forget.’

Think…Think!

‘And it’s an orange chocolate biscuit.’

‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘All done?’

‘All done,’ she admitted. She was out of ideas. Out of excuses. Out of flavourings.

‘Nice try—’

There was the smile again. The whole works. Crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes, something magical happening to his mouth as the lower lip softened to reveal the merest glimpse of white teeth. And then there were his eyes…

His eyes seemed to suggest that he was as surprised as she was to find he was smiling and, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.

And she could breathe again.

‘—but no cigar,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but potatoes don’t count as a vegetable.’

‘They don’t?’ She made a good fist at surprised.

‘Not as one of your five-a-day.’

He didn’t look sorry.

‘You’re telling me I’m going to have to stop counting fries?’ she demanded, hoping to make him forget himself again and actually laugh. Get him on her side. ‘Well, that’s a swizz.’

‘And you can forget the flavourings, too.’

‘I was afraid that might be stretching it. I did have orange juice with my breakfast,’ she assured him, as if determined to prove that she wasn’t a complete dietary failure. Playing the fool in an attempt to lull him into believing that she’d bought his act.

‘Good start. And since breakfast?’

‘I had green beans with my lunch and I’m fairly sure that the fruit in the dessert was the real thing.’

‘Apple tart, right?’

‘How on earth do you know that?’