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CHAPTER TWO

MAKSIM glanced down at the girl’s lovely, dazzled blue eyes as his chauffeur drove east through the crowded traffic on Knightsbridge Road towards Mayfair. She’d called him “nice.” He repeated the word in his mind as if he were trying to comprehend it.

Nice?

Prince Maksim Ivanovich Rostov had not become powerful by being nice.

His great-grandfather had been nice during his Paris exile, spending money as if he were still Grand Duke with his own fiefdom in St. Petersburg, giving largesse freely to every hard-luck story that walked into his pied-à-terre.

His grandfather had been nice, spending what little remained of the Rostov fortune down to the last penny in London as he waited impatiently for the Russian people to kick out the Soviets and beg him to return.

His father had been nice, hopelessly trying to support his young, sweet American wife by taking increasingly humiliating jobs until he’d finally followed his father’s lead of suicide-by-vodka, leaving his gentle wife, eleven-year-old son and baby daughter to fend for themselves in her native Philadelphia.

But Maksim…

He was not nice.

He was selfish. He was ruthless. He took what he wanted. It was how he’d built a billion-dollar fortune out of nothing.

And now…he wanted Grace Cannon.

For the past hour, he’d been waiting for her. His chauffeur had driven back and forth on Brompton Road, waiting to catch the girl as she came up from the Knightsbridge Tube stop on the way home to her basement flat in Barrington’s town house.

This young American secretary was the key to everything.

She would help him finally crush Barrington. The man had been a thorn in his side for far too long, and now he’d finally crossed the line by taking both the deal—and the woman—that rightfully belonged to Maksim.

Barrington thought he’d saved himself from ruin by taking Francesca as his fiancée. He’d soon find it was his last mistake. He would get neither the bride nor the merger.

Maksim would destroy him. As he deserved.

And Grace Cannon would help him. Whether she wanted to or not.

Maksim turned to her with a smile. Unfolding a soft cashmere blanket, he draped it over her shivering body.

“Thank you,” she said, her teeth still chattering.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered, pressing the blanket against her cheek. “You’re not like everyone says.”

“What do they say?” He carelessly placed his arm on the leather seat behind her. She was still shivering. He moved closer. Even though she was now covered with a blanket, her shivering only increased when he touched her.

“They say…you’re a…ruthless playboy,” she said haltingly. “That you spend half your time conquering business rivals…and the other half making conquests of women.”

He laughed. “They are right.” He moved closer, looking down into her face. “That is exactly who I am.”

His thigh brushed against hers, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She scooted away from him as if he’d burned her.

She was skittish. Very skittish.

There were only three possible explanations.

One—she was afraid of him. He dismissed that idea out of hand. She wouldn’t have agreed to get in his car if she’d been truly afraid.

Two—she had no experience with men. He dismissed that idea, as well. A twenty-five-year-old virgin? Almost impossible in this day and age. Particularly since she not only worked for Alan Barrington, she lived in his house. He surely had seduced her many times over.

That left only the third possibility. She was ripe for Maksim’s conquest.

He slowly looked her over. She wasn’t a girl that any man would immediately notice. Compared to fiery bird-of-paradise Francesca, who had bright-red hair, sharp red nails and a vicious red mouth, Grace Cannon was a drab sparrow, pale and frumpy with barely a word to say for herself.

And yet…

Now that Maksim really looked at her, he saw that the girl wasn’t nearly as plain as he’d first thought. Her ill-fitting coat and wet ponytail had made her seem so, but now he realized his mistake.

The fact that she wore no makeup only revealed the perfection of her creamy skin. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were so light as to be invisible, but that proved the glorious pale gold of her hair came from nature, not a salon. She wore no lipstick and her teeth hadn’t been bleached to blinding movie-star whiteness, and yet her tremulous smile was warmer and lovelier than any he’d seen. She wasn’t stick thin as the strange fashion for women dictated, but her ample curves only made her more lushly desirable.

He suddenly realized the dowdy secretary was a beauty.

A secret beauty, disguising herself away from the world. Beneath the unattractive clothing and the frumpy, frizzy hairstyle, her loveliness shone bright as the sun.

She hid her beauty. Why?

“What’s wrong?” She frowned up at him suddenly, furrowing her brow in alarm.

Had she guessed his plan? “What, solnishka mayo?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “Like sunshine in winter.”

She blushed, biting her tender pink lip as she looked away. Clutching the luxurious cashmere like a security blanket against her wet, threadbare coat, she scooted further away from him on the car’s leather seat. With a swallowed sigh, she stared out through the window at the passing Christmas lights beneath the thickly falling sleet. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know I’m not pretty.”

She didn’t know, he realized. She had no idea. She wasn’t purposefully hiding her beauty. She didn’t know.

“You are beautiful, Grace,” he said quietly.

At the use of her first name, she gave him a sudden fierce, sharp glance. “Don’t waste your flattery on me, Your Highness.”

He gave her an easy smile. “Call me Maksim. What makes you think it’s flattery?”

“You might be London’s most famous playboy, but I’m not that gullible. A few false compliments won’t make me blurt out details about the merger with Exemplary Oil. Alan has Lord Hainesworth’s support now. You won’t be able to win.”

So she was intuitive, as well as lovely. He was growing more intrigued by the moment. “I wasn’t lying.”

“I’m not a total fool. I know I’m not beautiful. There’s only one reason you’d say I am.”

“And that is?”

“You want me to betray Alan.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t. I’d die first.”

“Loyalty,” he said, staring at her with even greater interest. The girl felt something for her boss beyond what he’d expected. Was it possible she was in love with Alan Barrington?

A pity if the little secretary believed herself in love with him, Maksim thought. He’d just been starting to respect her.

Would money be enough to convince Grace to turn on her lover? Or would Maksim have to seduce her away from him?

Seducing a woman who was in love with another man would be an interesting challenge, he thought. And poetic justice.

But Maksim’s interest in Grace was no longer just about revenge. It was no longer just about rivalry or honor.

He suddenly wanted to peel away the deceptive layers of the little secretary’s plain clothing. To see her true beauty. To see her naked in his bed. To feel her lush curves against his body and see her bright, unadorned face breathless in the soft pink light of dawn.

Beneath his gaze, her pale cheeks went slowly red, like the blood-colored sun burning through the thick morning mist on the wide snowy fields of his Dartmoor estate. He watched as she nervously licked her full, pink, heart-shaped lips. Her white, even teeth nibbled at her lower lip, followed by a small dart of her tongue to moisten each corner of her mouth.

He felt himself go hard watching her.

He prayed she’d refuse his honest offer of money. Then he could just take her. Without conscience. Without remorse.

“The Leighton boutique is on Bond Street,” she stammered, caught in his gaze.

He gave a predatory smile. “My driver knows the way.”

“Of course he does. You date so many women, I bet you go there a lot.” She turned away, blinking fast as she stared out the window. Beneath her breath, she added wistfully, “It must be nice to never worry about money.”

A sudden memory went through Maksim of the bone-chilling winter when he’d turned fourteen. There’d been no heat in their tiny apartment; his mother had been laid off from her temp job. Three-year-old Dariya had been shivering and crying, and their desperate mother had taken her to a shelter to get warm. Wanting to help, he’d cut school to sell newspapers on the street in Philadelphia. Freezing rain soaked through everything. It had taken three days afterward for Maksim’s coat to dry—three days of winter so cold it left his skin the color of ash. Three days of a wet, icy wind that seeped beneath his clothes and left him shaking till his teeth chattered.

Three days of hiding the wet coat from his mother, knowing that she would insist on giving him her own, that she’d go without a coat herself as she trudged the distance between employment agencies, desperate to find a job, any job.

Those three days had taught him the most valuable lesson of his life.

Money made the difference between a good life and no life at all.

Money fixed anything. Money fixed everything.

And you didn’t get it by being nice.

“What a fairy-tale life,” the girl whispered, staring out the window at all the well-dressed shoppers on Bond Street, the expensive cars, the festive decorations and lights of Christmas. “A perfect fairy-tale life.”

Looking at her wistful beauty, Maksim suddenly had the strong desire to tell this naive girl the truth about his ruthless soul.

But he didn’t. She’d learn it soon enough.

She’d learn it the hard way.

Grace Cannon would tell Maksim what he needed to know. He would try to buy the information. If that didn’t work, he’d seduce it from her.

Or maybe, he thought suddenly as he looked down at her, he would seduce her anyway.

He would show this little secretary a kind of romance she’d never seen before. Luxury on a grand scale. He would be lavish. He would kiss her senseless. And like every woman before her, she would fall.

He would make her talk.

He would take her body.

Then…he would drop her.

A man didn’t get rich—or win—by being nice.

CHAPTER THREE

ELEGANT shops always made Grace uncomfortable, and the Leighton boutique was the snootiest shop on Bond Street.

She could feel herself tensing up the moment she walked through the door, past grim-jawed security guards in suits like FBI agents. They gave her a hard stare, and she had the sudden feeling they were waiting for her to make one false step so they could take her down as a warning to other broke secretaries who might try to venture inside this rarefied, exclusive world.

Grace swallowed, looking around the elegant primrose-colored boutique. Buying the lingerie the first time had just about killed her. Buying it on behalf of the man she loved, as a gift for another woman—in such a teensy, tiny size, to boot—was just another painful reminder of the fact that Alan had chosen Lady Francesca Danvers over her. The moment Alan had met the beautiful, wealthy aristocrat, he’d forgotten all about the drunken kiss he’d given Grace just the previous night.

It had been Grace’s very first kiss. But for him it had been instantly forgettable.

“Back again, I see,” the snooty salesgirl sniffed. She looked dismissively from Grace’s worn, wet coat to her scuffed-up boots. “Here to do more Christmas shopping for your boss?”

“I, um, yes.” She swallowed. “I need more lingerie. The same exact one. I lost—”

But as she spoke, the salesgirl’s eyes moved over her shoulder as someone new entered the shop.

Grace didn’t need to look around to know it was Maksim. She knew from the immediate electricity in the room. She knew from the thousand watts that lit up the salesgirl’s face as she nearly knocked Grace over in her haste to cross the marble floor. Reaching toward him. Wanting him like every woman in London.

Every woman except her, Grace told herself. He was dangerous and handsome and powerful, and he was her enemy. She didn’t want him. She didn’t.

“Your Highness! Such a pleasure to see you again,” the brunette cried. “We have plenty of new stock—I’d love to show it to you!”

It was painfully obvious to Grace what the salesgirl would really love to show Maksim. For no good reason she felt herself get tight and tense all over. She turned away, used to feeling invisible. In her job, on the street, living alone in a foreign country…invisible. Alone.

Then she felt a strong masculine hand on her shoulder.

“You will start by getting my beautiful friend a replacement of the lingerie she bought,” Maksim said to the salesgirl. He looked down at Grace. “Then—you will get her anything else she desires in the store.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” the salesgirl gasped, her mouth a round O as she looked at Grace with new respect.

His steel-gray eyes and the touch of his hand caused a flash of heat to spread through her body.

“I splashed you with my car,” he said. “It was an unforgivable rudeness. The least I can do is buy you new clothes. A new coat.”

Grace stared at him, warmth cascading all over her. A moment before, she’d felt so invisible and cold, but with one touch he made her feel alive. With one word he’d made her feel she had value in the world.

“Anything you want, Grace,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. “Anything at all. It will be my deepest honor to provide.”

A shudder of longing went through her. Her face turned involuntarily toward his touch, and his hand cupped her cheek. She tried to pull away from him, but her feet weren’t working properly. Neither was the rest of her.

Except for her breasts which started to ache, sending sizzles of longing down to her deepest core.

And at that moment Grace started to realize how dangerous the dark prince truly was.

She licked her lips. “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”

His hand traced lightly down her neck to her shoulder, to her coat. “Why do you hide in these clothes, Grace? Why are you afraid to show the world your beauty?”

He really thought she was pretty? It hadn’t just been flattery? Her mind was spinning a million directions at once, and as long as he kept touching her she couldn’t think straight. “I—”

“This would look lovely on you.”

He touched a lovely pink nightgown displayed on a white headless mannequin. The silk and lace were the blush color of a spring rose, and while the low-cut neckline was covered in lace, the rest of the fabric went elegantly to the floor.

Grace, who normally slept in T-shirts and flannel pants, couldn’t imagine sleeping in anything so sybaritic and luxurious.

Against her will, her eyes traced the shape of Maksim’s muscular fingers against the delicate silk. She had the sudden image of what it might feel like to be in that nightgown with his hands on her. To be touched and caressed and stroked through the silk by his strong, powerful touch.

Grace fiercely shook the evocative image out of her mind.

What was wrong with her? She was growing as headless as the mannequin! No man had ever seen her in nightwear. Not even in her flannel pajamas. And it was likely to remain so!

“I’m not in the habit of letting strangers buy me nightgowns,” she said, pulling her hand away from him and forcibly turning her back on the lovely pink silk.

“No lingerie, then,” he said, sounding amused. “In that case, a coat. This one?”

“A coat?” She turned around, tempted. In spite of the cashmere blanket and warmth of his car, she was still shivering from the melted sleet and slush seeping through her old camel-colored coat. Having never owned a proper coat in California, she’d bought this one at a charity shop in London. It had seemed serviceable enough, and the price had been right. But it didn’t hold up very well to rain, and was terribly ugly in the bargain, though Grace tried not to care.

“My car splashed your coat. It’s ruined,” he pointed out. “Surely even your overheightened sense of honor would allow me to replace it as a matter of course.”

He touched a truly beautiful ankle-length black shearling coat with a wide collar. It was a dazzling sight, fit for a princess. She’d admired the coat when she’d first come into the shop a few hours ago. But she’d only admired it from a distance—she hadn’t been nearly brave enough to actually touch it. Particularly after her eye had fallen on the price tag. Ten thousand pounds. In dollars, that equaled—

A new car.

She closed her eyes, suppressing her desire.

“And you must have this, as well.” He pointed at an exquisite silk cocktail dress. “The color matches your eyes.”

She looked at it hungrily. The dress was beautiful—something out of the fashion magazines she saw on newsstands. She reached out to touch the silk, then at the last moment hesitated and took the price tag instead. Four thousand pounds.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t allow her boss’s rival to buy her even a cocktail, let alone a cocktail dress!

Clothes like these were for glamorous, beautiful heiresses like Lady Francesca. Not for broke, plain girls like her. She’d bought her boots at a discount warehouse. Her shirt had cost less than ten dollars at Wal-Mart, and she’d bought her skirt suit used at a consignment shop in Los Angeles. For the past five years, since her father had died, she’d scrimped everywhere she could to help her family.

A lump rose in her throat. But it still hadn’t been enough. She never should have left her mother alone….

“Let me do this small thing for you,” Maksim said decisively. “You cannot refuse me this pleasure.”

And she almost couldn’t. She almost didn’t want to refuse him any pleasure.

But she couldn’t accept. She didn’t trust him. And as much as she wanted these beautiful luxuries, she knew they weren’t for her. Nothing in the Leighton boutique related to real life!

“And just where do you think I would wear that dress?” she retorted, raising her chin so he wouldn’t know how tempted her weak soul had been. “To the grocery store? The post office?”

His lips curved into a smile. “I can think of a few places you could wear it. And not wear it.”

Immediately a shiver of longing went through her body at his sensual smile. Why was he acting like this, wooing her as if she were a desirable, demanding woman?

There could be only one reason the ruthless billionaire prince would have any interest in her: he wanted to use her to get back the things Alan had stolen.

The merger.

The bride.

Grace resolutely turned away. From him, from the black coat, from the extravagant teal cocktail dress and the lavish, hedonistic life they represented. She wouldn’t sell herself, or sell out Alan.

“No,” she said, forcing down the hunger in her soul for everything she knew she’d never have. “I’ll allow you to replace the lingerie. No more.”

He shrugged. “It’s just money, Grace.”

Just money. The words made her want to laugh. Easy enough to say just money when you had plenty of it. Just money had made Grace drop out of college when her father died five years ago. Just money had made her mother worry about bills ever since, with three teenaged sons who ate out the refrigerator daily. And just money was about to make her family lose the only home they’d ever known.

“What is it?” Maksim’s steel-gray eyes were intent on hers, mesmerizing her will with the whispered promise of all her lost dreams. “Tell me what you want. Anything you desire, Grace. Say the word, and it is yours.”

“A couple of mortgage payments,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“I…I…it’s nothing.” She couldn’t possibly ask Alan’s enemy for a loan. She could only guess what the cost could be. She’d have to stab Alan in the back. She wouldn’t do that, not for any price.

Alan will advance me the money, she told herself desperately. He will!

With a deep intake of breath, she turned away from Maksim to speak directly to the salesgirl. “Just the white silk-and-lace babydoll, please. Size extra small.”

“I have it here, miss,” the brunette said respectfully. Grace watched as the girl folded the lingerie carefully, then wrapped it in tissue paper. She placed it in a glossy primrose-hued box embossed with the Leighton crest, then tied it with a white silk ribbon.

“Only one woman in a hundred would have turned down my offer,” the Russian prince said quietly from behind her. “One in a thousand.”

She looked back at him with a trembling attempt at a smile. “You are my boss’s rival. I feel enough of a traitor allowing you to replace the lingerie. Accepting a gift from you would not be appropriate.”

“No one would ever know about it.”

“I would know. And so would you.”

“Ah.” He looked down at her, his dark eyes intent. “A woman of honor.”

She felt uncomfortable, unsure of what response to make. The way he looked at her didn’t help. It just made her jumpy in her own skin. After feeling invisible for so long, being so suddenly seen by a man like Maksim made her dizzy.

It was like spending years in the darkness and then abruptly being hit by a blaze of sun. It sizzled her all over. She felt blinded by the intensity of his heat.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the salesgirl hold out the bag with a bright smile. “Merry Christmas, miss. Please come again soon.”

“Allow me.” Maksim took the bag, carrying it for her.

A prince and a gentleman?

It shocked her. If she’d been shopping with Alan, he would have made her carry everything. He liked to keep his hands free. After all, he always joked, didn’t women love to carry shopping bags? But then,Alan was her boss.

Maksim was…her enemy?

He was different from any man she’d ever known before. Dangerous. Because he was so handsome? Ruthless. Because he was a billionaire? And gallant. Because he was a prince?

Whatever it was, he was just like the Leighton clothes. Not for Grace. Nothing to do with real life. And yet she couldn’t look away, and a part of her couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be his woman.

As they climbed into his waiting Rolls-Royce, she felt the strength of his hand beneath her arm as he helped her in. Felt his touch up and down her body. And she trembled in her wet coat for reasons that had nothing to do with cold.

“Is it strange for you to buy lingerie for your ex-girlfriend?” she murmured as the car pulled away from the curb.

He shrugged, looked away. “She may someday be my girlfriend again.”

“But she’s engaged to Alan.”

She saw the twitch in his jaw. “And two months ago she was with me.”

“You can’t possibly think—”

“I don’t wish to speak of her.” He took both her hands in his own. “I wish to speak only of you.” He looked down at her and the edges of his lips turned up. “You need warming up.”

“I…do?” she breathed.

“Join me for dinner tonight.”

He was asking her out on a date? She tried not to tremble. Failed. “I couldn’t possibly.”

His dark eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“I’m not hungry, for one.” As if on cue, her stomach gave an audible growl and she blushed. She’d worked through lunch writing engagement announcements for Alan’s friends and family, while her boss met Francesca for a celebratory lunch at her father’s estate outside the city. “If Alan found out…”

“He won’t.”

“Splurging on dinner is not in my budget.”

“I will of course be pleased to—”

“No.”

He sighed, clearly exasperated. “You make it impossible to pamper you.”

“I don’t want you to pamper me.” Her stomach growled again, and she bit her lip. “But…perhaps a small snack wouldn’t hurt. As long as we go Dutch.” And as long as Alan never finds out. “There’s a tea shop by Harrods, close to our house.”

He raised his eyebrows. “‘Our’ house?” he asked innocently. “You have a roommate?”

She felt a blush go across her cheeks. “I share a house with Alan.”

He gave her a knowing glance. “I see.”

“We’re not lovers, if that’s what you think!” But she could see he didn’t believe her. She felt her cheeks turn redder still. “I have my own three-room flat in his basement. As his executive secretary, he needs me to always be available. With London rents as expensive as they are, I’m happy to have a place to stay.”

“How very convenient for you both,” he murmured silkily.

“You don’t understand,” she stammered. “It’s all fair and aboveboard. He deducts the cost of the rent from my salary each month!”

He suddenly laughed. “Does he really? So you’re available to him around the clock, running his personal errands on your own time…and he still makes you pay money to live in his basement?” He shook his head. “I can see why he inspires such loyalty.”

“Oh, forget it,” she said in a huff, sitting back against the seat and staring stonily out at passing Hyde Park. “If you’re going to insult Alan, you can forget the tea and just take me home.”

“I didn’t insult him.”

“You did!”

“I’m just surprised at your loyalty.You deserve more.”

She stared at him. She deserved more? It was an entirely new thought. She’d spent three years in low-paying temp jobs in downtown L.A. before she’d been hired by Cali-West. She’d been instantly smitten by the powerful, blond, handsome CEO who looked like a young Hugh Grant. She’d thought herself very lucky.

But the darkly handsome Russian prince thought she deserved…more?

“Are we close to the tea shop?” Maksim asked. She saw the driver waiting for directions, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

She pointed grumpily. “Right there. Just past the light.”

The white-haired lady who owned the patisserie appeared flustered by Maksim’s broad-shouldered form appearing in the doorway of her dainty shop. He seemed massively masculine, out of place against the faded flowery wallpaper. She immediately seated them at the best table, tucked in a corner window overlooking the crowds and festive windows of Harrods across the street. When the Frenchwoman asked for their order, Grace waited for Maksim to order first, as Alan would have done.

Instead, he looked at her questioningly, reaching across the small table to take her hand. “What do you recommend, Grace?”

“I…um.” She glanced down at her hand wrapped in his far larger one. She could barely think with him touching her. “The…er…” She pulled her hand away under pretense of picking up the gently tattered menu that she’d long ago learned by heart. “The English breakfast tea is good. The pastries are excellent, and so are the sandwiches.” She looked up at Madame Charbon, handing back her menu. “I’ll have my usual.”

The woman nodded.

Maksim handed her his menu. “I’ll have the same.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

As the Frenchwoman departed, Grace looked at him in surprise. “You don’t even know what you just ordered!”

He shrugged. “You know this restaurant. I trust you.”

He trusted her. She tried not to feel flattered. “Want to know what you’re having?”

“I like surprises.”

Normally Grace didn’t, but she was starting to. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was so upset in the car. I guess you really weren’t insulting Alan.”

“He is lucky to have you.”

She stared down at the tiny table. The truth was it was sometimes grating how small her paycheck was. And never more so than now. She’d been his junior secretary for eighteen months before she was promoted to executive assistant six months ago. But in spite of her additional responsibilities, he’d never given her a raise commensurate with her new position. He’d always managed to put her off with an excuse and a smile.

Then he’d decided to pursue a long-shot merger with Exemplary Oil PLC and he’d abruptly moved them to London in early October. In L.A. Grace had had fewer expenses. She’d been able to live at home and help her family. Now that she lived in London and paid Alan rent, she was barely able to send her mother a hundred dollars a month.

This led to one inescapable conclusion: the looming foreclosure of her family’s home was entirely Grace’s fault.

As Madame Charbon arrived with the steaming mugs of hot chocolate and croissants, Grace tried to push the depressing thoughts away. They just made her feel more powerless and scared and…angry.

Alan will help me. He will, she repeated to herself.

“What are you thinking about, solnishka mayo?” Maksim asked, leaning forward as he looked at her keenly.

She gulped down some hot chocolate, scalding her tongue. “Nothing. Um. I was just wondering if you’ve ever ridden the Trans-Siberian Railroad.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “An odd question.”

“You’re Russian, aren’t you?” She smiled wistfully. “I used to dream about that train when I was a little girl, a train that crosses seven time zones and nearly six thousand miles, going all the way from Moscow to the Pacific Ocean.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said dryly. “I live in Moscow only a few months a year. When I travel or visit the northern oil fields I go by jet.”

“Of course you do,” she said with a sigh. “So where do you live when you’re not in Russia? London?”

“I have many houses around the world. Six or seven. I live in whichever one is convenient.”

She stared at him. “Six or seven? You’re not even sure how many?”

He shrugged. “I have as many as I need. I sell them when I’m bored.” He licked the thick whipped cream off the top of the mug with his wide tongue, causing her to stare in spite of herself. He took a sip of hot chocolate, then a bite of the croissant. “This is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it. Alan hates hot chocolate.”