Let It Snow.... Leslie Kelly

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СКАЧАТЬ noble. Hence the name? No nuts, no worries? “So you save your threats for young, inexperienced fools like my brother?”

      “Your brother?” That fine brow went up and he tilted his handsome head in confusion. “Mr. Hoffman?”

      “Yes. Freddy’s my brother. And if you think I’m going to let you hurt him, you’ve got another think coming.”

      “Shouldn’t that be another thought coming?”

      She growled. “What are you, the freaking grammar police?”

      “I’m not from this area, and I am not sure I understand all your colloquialisms.”

      “Where do you come from?” she asked, though she cursed herself for doing so. She had no interest in the man, and this conversation was beyond confusing.

      “The land of Barcelona,” he declared with a decisive nod.

      “Uh… Spain? You sure don’t sound Spanish.”

      He waved a hand. “I am well traveled… but, um, but also poor. A student making my way around the world.”

      Huh. That was surprising. The guy oozed confidence and self-reliance, looking more like a ship’s captain or a… a sheik—that was it, some oil-rich gazillionaire. Yes, his clothes were casual, and didn’t appear terribly expensive, but he wore them like somebody who had money.

      He had the leanest waist and hips, most attractive male butt and strong legs… at least, as far as she could tell. And considering she’d been pressed up against him five minutes ago, she could tell a lot. So, really, anything would look phenomenal on the man.

      Or off the man.

      She swallowed hard, trying to focus. “So tell me, student, what are you learning from your boss, the bookie? How to swindle people? How to… crack nuts?”

      “You keep talking about this nut cracking. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

      There was no disguising the confusion in his voice. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty entered Claire’s mind.

      She’d turned around and found a big, strong, dark and mysterious stranger in the shop kitchen, asking for Freddy. Her mind had immediately connected him with the deadly man her brother had warned her about a few days ago.

      But what if he wasn’t who she thought he was? What if she’d mistaken him for a mobster, when he was just… Just what? Looking for directions to the Statue of Liberty by slipping in the back door of a closed candy shop on a Sunday evening?

      Something didn’t add up. But she had to know for sure.

      “Who, exactly, are you?”

      “I’m Philip.” He extended his hand. “Philip… Smith.”

      She eyed it as if it were poisonous. Not because she didn’t want to touch him, to feel his hand in hers and assess its strength, and imagine how it might feel rubbing against parts of her body. But rather, because she did.

      Finally, though, realizing he wasn’t going to drop his arm until she shook, she reached out and grasped his fingers with hers, squeezing lightly, pumping once and yanking away.

      No matter how quickly she moved, it wasn’t fast enough. She was still left with curiosity about other squeezing and pumping. Lots of squeezing and pumping.

      Pull your head out of his pants. It had obviously been too long since she’d gotten laid if she was thinking about sex with a guy who might or might not be here to neuter her brother.

      The stranger was watching her closely, his eyebrows raised expectantly, and she finally remembered he’d offered her his name.

      “I’m Claire Hoffman,” she mumbled.

      “Claire. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

      Was he for real? Would a mob enforcer really talk like that?

      “And if you run the delightful shop, in which I purchased some festive holiday candies yesterday, it appears I am your upstairs neighbor.”

      “Wha-a-a…?”

      Good thing she was leaning against the counter, not only because her legs suddenly felt weak, but because there would be something to catch her plummeting jaw as it collapsed downward. She stared at the man, putting the pieces together, remembering how Freddy had cajoled her to rent the upstairs apartments to get him his gambling money. They hadn’t talked about it since; she’d been busy decorating the shop and restocking specific seasonal goodies. Could he—would he—have done it behind her back? Would even weak, spoiled Freddy do something so rotten?

      You didn’t. Oh, God, tell me you didn’t.

      But she knew he had. Freddy had already had this plan in mind, or perhaps even in motion, when he’d come to her about the money the other day. Then when he’d asked her to meet him at his place to talk some more yesterday, he’d stood her up. She’d had to get her part-timer to cover the store on a busy Saturday afternoon, and Freddy hadn’t even been there.

       Because he was here, renting those apartments?

      Oh, that sneaky bastard.

      “Now tell me,” Philip ordered, “who did you think I was when I first came in? And why did the thought of that person being here frighten you?”

      “I wasn’t frightened.”

      “I think you were,” he said, those dark eyes piercing, demanding she reveal the truth.

      “I thought it might be somebody looking for my brother.”

      “Someone who wanted to hurt your brother?” The man’s tone said he wouldn’t accept anything less than pure honesty. “Someone who’d threatened him?”

      “Maybe.”

      Her visitor’s jaw clenched; she could see the flexing of his muscles.

      “Would this person hurt you to get at your brother?”

      She shifted her gaze, not knowing what Freddy’s cohorts were capable of.

      Philip’s whole body seemed to grow bigger, harder—more threatening—as he leaned closer. “I walked right in. Why are you working here alone at night? Your brother should be here protecting you!”

      Laughter burst from her mouth at the very idea. “Freddy couldn’t protect his graham crackers from the other kids in day care.”

      “He doesn’t sound like much of a man.”

      “He’s only twenty-one,” she said, not even sure why she was making excuses for her sibling. “And I’ve sort of had to finish raising him since our mother died.”

      Or, well, all his life. But who was counting?

      “At twenty-one you’re a man,” Philip insisted, “in any land. СКАЧАТЬ