LITMIR.BIZ

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threats. Then I sent him to his room and came to find you. Next question?”

      “What is the project you’re here about?”

      “Prepare to be fascinated,” he said wryly. “Mass-transit apps.”

      “Like HopStop? GPS for a subway or bus system, showing you where to get on and get off and change buses to get where you’re going?”

      “Exactly. We want that for Montedoro. Rule was dealing with it and he had meetings set up here in New York for Monday and Tuesday of next week. But he had a scheduling conflict. I stepped up and volunteered to fill in for him.” It sounded perfectly reasonable. But it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d wanted to see her again, couldn’t stop thinking about her. The transit-app project? Just an excuse.

      She kissed him, her hand at his cheek, caressing. “How long will you be here?”

      “Until the middle of next week, Wednesday or Thursday....”

      “Will you have meetings every day?” She actually blushed. “And yes, I am working you totally, trying to find out how much of your time I can expect to monopolize.”

      Good. She wanted what he wanted. More of this, the two of them. More time together. More sex. More...everything.

      He answered her easily, in a casual tone. “The meetings are scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. I’m hoping to keep them to the mornings both days, but they could go longer....”

      “You’re free for the weekend, then, and in the evenings?”

      “Yes, I am.”

      “Yay!” She kissed him again, a brush of her lips along his jaw. “Four or five days, you and me. Together.” But then she grew tentative. “I mean, if that’s good for you. If it’s, you know, what you had in mind?”

      He clasped her bare shoulder. “It’s exactly what I had in mind.”

      “Oh!” Her smile lit up her face again. “Wonderful.”

      “What about you? Will you be busy?”

      “Well, I did volunteer to make costumes for a children’s Christmas show and wrap presents for kids in need. But I can put most of that off until after you leave, so while you’re here, I can spend every spare minute with you.”

      “Excellent.” He pulled her closer and never wanted to let go—which of course was ridiculous. He always let go in the end. The heat and hunger never lasted, and when it went, his interest went with it. Some men weren’t made for forever and he accepted that he was one of those. “We have a plan, then.”

      “Oh, yeah, we do. A Christmas love affair, the two of us. To go with our Thanksgiving love affair. I could really get used to having love affairs with you.”

      He stroked her hair and heard himself asking in a casual tone that belied the extent of his interest, “What about that Brandon fellow? Still hoping to make something happen with him?”

      “Brandon.” She groaned. “Oh, I don’t think so. He’s not all that after all— Plus, he’s in L.A. and likely to stay there. And he’s met someone special, he said.”

      Good. The guy with the butterscotch eyes was out of the picture. Dami smiled against her hair and baldly lied, “Too bad.”

      “It’s okay. Believe me. It’s not meant to be with Brandon and I’m totally good with that.”

      He tipped up her chin, rubbed his mouth across hers, savored her tiny sigh. “About our Christmas love affair?”

      She grinned against his lips. “Now you’re talkin’.”

      “Five days is too short.” He spoke the bald truth without stopping to think if the bald truth was wise.

      She made a happy little sound and tucked her head down on his chest again. “Maybe you’ll stay longer, like until New Year’s. After all, a Christmas love affair would logically last until New Year’s Day, wouldn’t it?”

      The idea of staying longer held far too much appeal. “Love affairs and logic. I’m not so sure the two go together.”

      Her lips brushed the side of his throat and her breath flowed across his skin. “I suppose they don’t. And I’m sure you have important things you need to be doing in Montedoro, so I’m going to be happy with what I can get. The rest of today and four more days. Maybe five. Too short, but so very sweet.”

      * * *

      A little while later they made love again.

      And then she cuddled in close to him and chattered away about all she’d been doing since she left him in Montedoro. She talked about her new friend, Tabby, whose family owned the diner across the street. And about the widow in the three-bedroom across the landing. She said that Viviana Nichols made the best cookies in the world.

      “I love Viv,” she told him. “Her door’s always open and she’s easy to talk to. It’s already beginning to feel like I have a family here, you know? People I really like, good people I want to spend time with.”

      He wasn’t surprised that she made friends so easily. She looked for the good in others and almost always seemed to find it.

      Eventually, they shared a quick shower. He would have lingered to make love with her again, but he wanted to take her up to his place. So they put on their clothes and went up to the sixth floor.

      “Wow,” Lucy said when he ushered her in the door. “I’d forgotten how big it is.” He’d brought her up to the apartment briefly when he’d first moved her to New York in October. “All these great windows. An open living space. A real, true New York loft apartment.”

      “I’m so pleased you approve.”

      She made a face. “It’s just too white, though.”

      He said what the designer had told him. “Adds to the open effect.”

      She shook her head, her green sweater drooping off one shoulder, making him want to reach out and slide it down even more—or better yet, to take it off her again. “It needs color. But I do like the art.” Large canvases, mostly modern abstracts in the vivid hues she so admired, covered the half walls that marked off the spaces: living, dining, kitchen, all large areas, each one flowing into the next. There were two bedroom suites on that floor—the master suite and a slightly smaller suite. Above, there was another bath, an office and a studio, along with two smaller bedrooms, one for his man, Edgar, when Edgar accompanied him, and one for his bodyguard.

      Damien was about to take her up the wide steel staircase and show her the other floor when someone tapped on the door. He checked the peephole. “It’s Quentin and the food.” He let in the bodyguard and the man with the grocery cart full of meat, staples and produce from a nearby gourmet-food store.

      Lucy smiled at the bodyguard, who gave her a respectful nod and then stood to the side so the deliveryman could carry the bags in from the cart and line them up on the kitchen peninsula. Once that was done, Dami signed the bill.

      Quentin said, “I’ll show you out.” He ushered the deliveryman through the door and Dami shut it behind him.

      Lucy began pulling things out of the bags. “Yum. Looks good. Is the chef coming soon?”

      He came up behind her, drawn as though magnetized to her flesh, to her bright, joyous spirit. Just being near her made him feel electric with energy and heat. He clasped her hips and drew her back against him, lowering his mouth to the sweet-scented curve where her neck met her shoulder. “I am the chef.”

      She turned in his arms and put her hands on his chest. “You can cook, too? I knew it.”

      “Edgar cooks when I want him to, and brilliantly. But I left him in Montedoro this trip, so I’m on my own.”

      She stepped out of his hold, scooped up a carton of milk and carried it to the refrigerator. “Come on, Your Highness.

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