Her Christmas Prince. Catherine Mann

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      “Don’t you think my high moral fiber is reason enough?” she replied sleepily.

      “It might be, if you weren’t more beautiful than a supermodel, and hadn’t recently been accused quite publicly of having an affair with a married man.”

      With a sigh, she pushed herself up on one arm, using her other hand to press the sheet to her breasts. If he wasn’t going to let the topic go, she might as well tell him everything and get it over with.

      “For the record, it wasn’t an affair. Except perhaps in Blake’s mind. Blake Winters,” she clarified. “That was his name. I met him almost two years ago at a fund-raising event. He’s charming and good-looking, and I admit I was attracted to him. He started calling, sending flowers and gifts. We went out a few times, and he was nice enough, but I didn’t think we hit it off quite as well as he apparently did. And I didn’t know he was married and had a family,” she stressed, finally finding the courage to meet Nicolas’s gaze.

      “Even after I decided not to see him anymore, he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept calling, kept sending presents. He attended my functions and did his best to get me alone. Just about the time his attention started to border on frightening, he stopped trying to contact me.”

      She shifted uncomfortably, readjusting the sheet around her torso as she went back to looking anywhere but into Nicolas’s eyes. “I thought that was the end of it, and then suddenly photographs of the two of us showed up in the press. They were probably taken at the charity events, but they were just suggestive enough to get tongues wagging—especially when a so-called ‘source’ leaked the information that we had been intimately involved. I think it was Blake himself. I think he wanted people to believe we were having an affair, maybe even thought, in some sick way, that it would make me go back to him.”

      She shook her head and took a deep breath, shrugging off the bad memories and any lingering remnants of the shame she’d felt when the story—however incorrect—had broken.

      The hair on her nape rose when Nicolas reached out to run the back of his hand over her bare arm. His knuckles rasped along her skin, drawing gooseflesh everywhere he touched.

      “Poor Alandra, working so hard to take care of everyone else, but having no one stand up for you when you most needed it.”

      His words, as well as his tone, surprised her, and for a moment she let herself believe them. A second later, though, self-pity transformed into her usual streak of independence, and she gave an unladylike snort.

      “I had plenty of people to defend me,” she told him. “Unfortunately, my family is no match for all of Texas high society. In situations like that, the only thing you can do is lie low and try not to do anything even more newsworthy until it all blows over.”

      His hand moved from her arm to her back. The light stroking lulled her and made her want to curl up beside him once again.

      “Is that what you’re doing here, in Glendovia?” Nicolas asked softly. “Lying low?”

      She snuggled down again, draping herself cozily along his hard length. Resting her head on the curve of his shoulder, she asked, “Is this low enough for you?”

      He gave a chuckle, then shifted slightly and pulled her tighter against him, readjusting the cool sheets so that they were both covered from the waist down.

      Silence surrounded them, heavy but comfortable. It gave her the chance to listen to Nicolas’s breathing and the sound of his heart pumping rhythmically beneath her ear.

      “That explains the scandal that surrounds you back in the States,” he said at last, his fingers drawing random circles on her upper body. “It doesn’t, however, tell me how you managed to remain untouched for so long.”

      Her mouth twisted wryly, even though she knew he couldn’t see her expression. “I’m a good girl. What do you think?”

      “I think you’re a very good girl,” he murmured, his words edged with innuendo. “But no one who looks at you would ever believe you were a virgin.”

      She cocked her head back to glower at him. “Why? Because I forgot to wear my sweater with the big red V on the front?”

      “No,” he responded calmly. “Because you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and sexuality trickles from your every pore. No heterosexual man could be in the same room with you without wanting you, and I find it hard to believe that one hadn’t convinced you to sleep with him before now.”

      Sighing, she relaxed and settled back against Nicolas. “I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that no man has truly enticed me enough. I’ve dated a lot of men, yes. Wealthy, attractive men. And there were a few times I came close, a few I thought I might be falling in love with. But something always stopped me.”

      “Until now.”

      Beneath her ear, his heart seemed to jump against his rib cage and double its beat. Her eyelids, already half-closed, drifted all the way shut, his pulse acting like a lullaby.

      “Until now,” she agreed, her voice growing faint as sleep began to tug at her. “I guess you could say that your invitation came at a very beneficial time. For a number of reasons.”

      “One of those reasons being that it gave me a chance to finally get you exactly where I wanted you.” With one sinewy arm around her waist, he dragged her up so he could see her face, jarring her into full wakefulness.

      Alandra wanted to argue the point or chastise herself for falling so effortlessly into his trap. But right now, in the darkest part of the night, with him lying warm and solid beneath her, she couldn’t find it in her to be angry.

      Later, maybe, but not now.

       Ten

      Rays of warm sunlight slanted through the French doors, crossing the carpeted floor and part of the bed, and pulling Alandra slowly awake.

      She stretched and yawned and reached out an arm, expecting to find Nicolas asleep beside her. When her hand met nothing but cool, bare sheets, she opened her eyes and blinked until her vision focused.

      She was naked and alone in a tangle of pale, wrinkled bedclothes.

      Sitting up, she glanced around the room, but didn’t find him there.

      A sliver of disappointment snaked through her belly. Maybe it had been too much to hope that she’d be able to wake up in his arms. It wouldn’t do, after all, for him to be caught sleeping with the hired help.

      With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and reached for her robe. Knotting the belt at her waist, she glanced at the clock, her heart pitching when she saw that it was well past 10:00 a.m.

      Good Lord, how could she have slept so late?

      Not looking forward to the greeting she would receive when she finally made her way downstairs, Alandra showered and brushed her teeth, then started to dress. She wore a simple white sheath with a silver-bangle belt, and white platform sandals. Nothing too provocative, but nothing too dowdy, either.

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