Christmas Getaway by Tina Leonard and Marion Lennox Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

kind?”
    He could feel her hesitation, and for some reason it made him feel good. He wanted her to have doubts about her fiancé.
    â€œHe’s a plastic surgeon,” she said finally. “And don’t say anything. I can feel you trying not to laugh, and I’m already annoyed with you.”
    He did his best. “So you’re marrying a rich doctor who pushes wrinkle filler for a living.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with keeping up your appearance,” she said, without the heat of a true believer.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with letting your face show what you’ve learned in life,” he replied. Which made him want to look at her face again, but it was tucked against his chest, so he had to make do with his imagination. She had the softest mouth, once she relaxed, and a full lower lip that he really wanted to bite. Her curves felt lush and warm against his bare chest, which was almost as good as looking into her steely gray eyes and seeing whether she was really as unaffected as she wanted him to believe.
    Odd that he could remember her eyes were gray. He’d hardly been in any condition to pay attention. But he’d noticed when she’d stripped off that ruined horror of a wedding gown, and even on his deathbed, with people out to kill him, he’d still wanted her.
    His brothers would laugh. Fitz was notoriously picky when it came to women—he had the black Irish good looks and the soul of a Jesuit, his brother Brian had said. But Brian was wrong. He just had a tendency to take relationships seriously.
    Which made his uncharacteristic lust for the pain-in-the-ass bride even more unlikely. “So where do you and your plastic surgeon plan to live?”
    â€œHe’s got a house on Beacon Hill.”
    Fitz snorted. “I told you, old money. Don’t you think you’ll be bored by all that silver-spoon crap?”
    â€œAfter the last twelve hours I could do with a little boredom.” Her voice was tart, matter-of-fact, but he could sense a faint note of tension beneath it.
    â€œHaving second thoughts, are you?” he murmured againsther tangle of hair. He wasn’t even sure what color it was—a sort of brownish blond with red streaks that were maybe put there by nature, maybe by a hairdresser.
    Her body tensed against his again, and he waited for her to deny his question. “None of your business,” she said instead. “Now stop talking and go to sleep, or I’ll take my half of the covers and let you freeze.”
    â€œBut then you’d freeze, too,” he pointed out with great reasonableness.
    â€œIt might be worth it,” she muttered.
    She smelled like cinnamon and cloves, wonderful scents from his childhood, and while he wanted to keep arguing with her, bantering with her, annoying her, he found his energy flagging once more. And in the end, just holding her body in his arms was good enough. In the morning he’d be his rational self, and the hours of darkness in the narrow bed wouldn’t have existed. She’d still be the same annoying woman, he’d still be on a run for his life. And the sooner they parted company the better.
    But in the meantime…
    He pulled her closer, letting his chin rest on her hair, and closed his eyes.
    In the meantime…
    Â 
    S HE WOKE BEFORE he did, thank God, and slid out of bed, padding across the chilly room in her underwear. She grabbed the change of clothes she’d bought at Wal-Mart and headed into the bathroom, praying for hot water. For once the lousy motel came through, and she stripped off her underwear and stepped beneath the hot stream. She stayed in as long as she could, then dressed quickly in the tiny, steam-filled bathroom before moving back into the small bedroom. Fitzpatrick was stillasleep, but his color was much better now, and to judge by his friskiness in the middle of the night, he was no longer at death’s door.
    Which meant