A Dangerously Sexy Christmas. Stefanie London
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AS IF IT wasn’t bad enough to have her place of work and her house broken into, now she had to reveal the sorry state of her personal life to Mr. GI Joe Wannabe. The superhot, muscled-beyond-belief GI Joe Wannabe.
Rose cringed; there was no way she was going to stay with her dad. It’d been eleven years since she’d seen him, and they were far from being a happy family. Rose hadn’t wanted to reconnect with him, but after she’d moved to New York, he’d pushed harder for a reconciliation.
Staying in London hadn’t been an option, not with memories of her mother lingering on every corner. New York was the only other place she’d known to be home, but coming back here had meant starting from scratch...again. She hadn’t kept in contact with a single schoolmate or friend. But that didn’t mean she was ready to trust her father yet.
“Like I said, I’ll be fine here.” Rose took a long, slow breath and ordered herself not to cry. She was not going to let Max Ridgeway see her crumble.
As much as she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she was starting to agree with his earlier assessment that this situation was more than a simple robbery. She wasn’t rich by any means, but there were several things in her apartment that would fetch a few dollars. The strand of cultured pearls that had belonged to her mother, for one. Not to mention her electronic equipment, including the new laptop she’d bought at duty free and the iPad on her bedside table. All of it untouched.
A wave of emotion washed over her, causing her stomach to rock like a buoy in rough waters. Sighing, she looked through the apartment. If she hung out in the entrance she could pretend it had never happened.
“Come on,” Max said, his hand landing briefly on her shoulder before he jerked it away as if he’d changed his mind about touching her. “You can’t stay here. Let’s pack you a bag. We can call the police and tackle the clean-up tomorrow.”
His voice was crisp and businesslike, but the furrow of his dark brows and the determined set of his deep brown eyes spoke volumes. He was invested in taking care of her. His commitment seeped from every pore. Despite the chaos around her, Rose felt safe for the first time in a long while...as much as she hated to admit it.
The only person who cares about your safety is the one guy getting paid to do it. Typical.
Trusting someone else was uncomfortable, like a jacket that hugged too tight and squeezed her insides just enough to make breathing hard. Trust made her palms itch and her eyes dart. She never left her well-being in the hands of another person. She was her own protector, her own teacher, her own motivator. Everyone else sat at the periphery, whether she wanted them to or not.
“I don’t know about the police,” she said, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“I’m worried about the jewelry store’s reputation. Someone posted about the break-in on a blog, and we had customers questioning whether our security was up to scratch. We do a lot of repair and repurposing, but customers are worried to leave their items with us now.”
“It’s not your store to worry about.”
“Part of it is,” she insisted. “I have a dedicated space for my work. I’m building my clientele. It’s not just a sales job for me. It’s a platform to start my own business.”
He sighed. “Are you sure? No cops?”
“They have no leads in the store break-in. And it doesn’t look like anything was stolen here.”
“We’ll go through it all tomorrow to be certain, but we still need to sort where you’re going to stay tonight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“No,” he barked. “Don’t even try and tell me you’ll be fine on your own. It’s not happening.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but tiredness had seeped into her limbs, deadening them and dampening her desire to argue. Right now she wanted a hot bath and a large glass of denial. Tomorrow she would formulate a plan.
Heading into her bedroom, she stepped over the scattered papers and spilled lingerie. The scent of her mother’s perfume hung in the air, a dense cloud of memory. Green flowers, a slight sharpness from the aldehydes. Chanel No.19, the only perfume her mother had ever worn. Through the days when they’d had very little money, she’d savored it, using only a single spritz for a special occasion, stretching the bottle because she couldn’t afford a new one. The scent made Rose’s eyes fill with tears.
Desperate for distraction, she grabbed a small suitcase and unzipped it. In her head she ran through the items she would need for a night away, cataloging them to prevent herself from thinking about how badly her life had been violated.
“T-shirt, jeans, underwear, deodorant,” she muttered, folding and stacking the items neatly into the bag. “Bra, hairbrush, cardigan...”
Max leaned against the door frame, keeping his distance but watching her closely. His large shoulders all but filled the space and she couldn’t help but allow her eyes to skim over the way his jeans fitted his thighs so snugly. They fitted rather snugly over some other areas, too.
She swallowed and redirected her attention to her overnight bag.
He was a total beefcake, no doubt one of those guys who thought time at the gym was a top priority in life. He wasn’t her type at all, though she had to admit the Australian accent was damn easy on the ears. But she preferred arty guys with trimmed beards and slender fingers, the kind of guys who would appreciate her work for its beauty and artistry, not those who would label it frivolous. So why did her gaze gravitate to Max at every opportunity?
You need the distraction, that’s all. He’s hot and you’re trying not to dwell on how the hell you ended up in this mess. Totally normal behavior.
“Hurry up.” Max’s deep baritone broke through her internal monologue. “The quicker we get you out of here the better.”
Rose looked up, her stomach flipping over at his serious expression. She wouldn’t feel scared. Years of fending for herself had to be worth something. She could manage it. No big deal.
Max’s voice was cool, but he stared at her with an intensity that said he wasn’t as calm as he acted. Never mind the way he drummed his fingers against the door frame.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered, dragging the zipper closed.
She set the suitcase on the ground and slipped her feet into a pair of flats. The nightstand and dressing table were covered in jewelry. The music box her mother had given her was shut, but the vintage earrings she usually kept inside were scattered around it. Clearly the non-thief had taken a peek inside. Her fingertips brushed a lonely gold earring with a vibrant green stone in the center. Its twin had fallen onto the carpet. She bent down and picked it up.
“Come on.” Max’s hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him step into the room. His scent filled her nostrils, the warm masculine earthiness curling inside her, tightening all the places that should not have been working right now.
Focus on him, not on the fact that someone has been in your house. Hottie, good. Stalker, bad.
They trudged out of the apartment, her eyes immediately locking onto Max’s ass as she followed him. He wore a short jacket, his arms wrapped around his body to keep himself warm. The man wore jeans as though they’d been designed exactly to highlight the delicious muscles in his legs. He exuded strength and control. She’d bet her favorite pendant that there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.
“Where are we going?” she asked, stepping out into the night air and turning to lock the door behind her.
It felt a little pointless since the lock hadn’t kept her house safe before. She set the alarm from a home security app on her phone. Now that she thought about it, the app hadn’t alerted her to an intruder earlier. That could only mean that whoever