A Dangerously Sexy Christmas

by Stefanie London

  Paper filled with jewelry sketches littered the floor like oversize snow. A bookcase had been overturned, its contents scattered. He tested the weight of the bookcase. Someone strong had done this.

  Red shards glinted on the floor—an ornament had been knocked off her Christmas tree and shattered beyond repair. Two more baubles sat on the floor, unbroken, and the angel on top of the tree hovered at a precarious angle.

  “Stay close while I check the rest of the house,” Max said, his voice level.

  He knew the drill. Clear the area. Don’t leave the victim alone in case the intruder was still in the house. Since it was just the two of them, there was no one to stay behind and watch Rose while he did the clearing.

  He reached into his leather jacket and drew the pistol from his holster. “We need to make sure whoever did this is gone.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded, drawing nearer to him without argument. They moved together through the dining area and into the kitchen. More cupboards were open there, more glass smashed. A door leading out to a tiny courtyard remained closed.

  It was unlocked.

  “Did you check this today before you left the house?”

  She sucked on her lower lip. “I honestly can’t remember.”

  Max was careful to move slowly so Rose could follow. But his blood pumped fiercely through his veins, his senses tuned to notice the slightest noise or change in atmosphere. A near-silent footstep. A breath.

  He felt her presence at every step, her body close to his as they checked every nook, every corner. Her bedroom was by the front door. It, too, had been ransacked.

  The drawers of her bureau were open, colorful scraps of lace flung everywhere. A purple bra hung from the handle of the drawer and a pile of panties had been dumped nearby like a crumpled rainbow. The head-spinning scent of flowers filled the room. Max spied an overturned perfume bottle, its contents dripping down the drawers to form a puddle on the ground.

  Rose picked up the bottle, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She touched her fingertip to the chipped neck. “This was my mother’s. She brought it with her when we left America.”

  The ink on the label had run, the leaked perfume smearing the words together. Her hand shook and Max reached out, taking the bottle from her so she wouldn’t cut herself. He placed it back on the bureau.

  “We’ll find out who did this, Rose. But you have to believe me when I say this doesn’t feel like an isolated incident.”

  She nodded mutely, her face set into a hard mask. Unemotional. Contained.

  They walked to the living room. “Can you get upstairs from inside the building?”

  Rose shook her head. “It’s a totally separate apartment. The guy who lives there uses the stairs out front.”

  “He might have seen something.”

  “I’m pretty sure he does shift work. He’s hardly ever home in the evenings.” She shrugged, her eyes unfocused. “But you could try.”

  They hovered by the front door, Rose huddled close to him. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her black jeans as though she didn’t want to risk touching anything. But her eyes revealed what the nonchalant pose was trying to hide. Fear.

  The robbers had struck the jewelry store first, but hadn’t taken anything. And now they’d targeted Rose’s home. They were looking for something specific.

  “Is anything missing?” Max asked as softly as he could. It was hard not to sound like a cop when it was all he’d ever known.

  “Not that I can tell.” Her yellow-green eyes clouded over, dark brows pinched together above her pert nose. It was cruel that a women could look so beautiful with a face full of storm clouds.

  He listened intently, but only Rose’s quickening breath broke the silence. He holstered his pistol and watched her for a moment.

  Max turned to inspect the closet by the entrance. It wasn’t built into the wall, but it appeared to be bolted against it for stability. The door was ajar.

  Inside, a black coat hung beside its gray twin. A pair of snow boots and two pairs of black high heels sat on the floor. He bent down to inspect a storage box that had been opened.

  “Do you keep anything valuable in here?” He turned, expecting to see her behind him. But she wasn’t there. “Rose?”

  A crash in the kitchen sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He sprang up and raced through the apartment, his boots heavy and loud on the wooden floor. Each sense was focused, his eyes capturing and assessing every detail.

  “Rose!” He drew his pistol.

  Something hard connected with his shoulder as the intruder sprinted toward the front door in a blur of black. Max quickly regained his footing, but the person was gone in an instant. Max burst out onto the street only to find the intruder had vanished into thin air.

  A lady walking her dog peered at him curiously, her eyes zeroing in on his gun. She hurried along, her head down. Max slammed his hand down on the brick letterbox as he stalked back into the house, holstering his weapon.

  “Are you okay?” he called out as he jogged through the doorway.

  Rose sat on the ground, her eyes wide and her breathing erratic. Chest heaving, she stared up at him. Unblinking. He dropped to the ground in front of her and inspected her face for cuts and bruises. Thankfully, she appeared to be shocked but not seriously hurt.

  “I came back into the kitchen and he grabbed me from behind.” She touched her fingertips to a bright red spot under one eye and winced.

  “Did you see his face?”

  “It all happened so quickly. He was tall and had dark hair... That’s all I saw after he pushed me over.” She swallowed. “Oh, he had a tattoo on his neck.”

  “Of what?”

  She bit her lip. “Something black...a spade, I think.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  She took a deep breath, her eyes finally focusing on Max. “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “He said, ‘Where is it?’” She shook her head. “I don’t know what he was talking about.”

  He’d been prepared for her to cry next, but Rose Lawson held firm. Shell-shocked, but firm. Her bubble of denial had well and truly been shattered today, but she’d taken it like a champ and he respected her for that.

  He had to fight the sudden urge to bundle her up and kiss her until she forgot everything—the trauma, the stress, the reality—but the pressure of his lips. He shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t like him at all to think about anything other than the facts. How had Rose gotten under his skin so quickly?

  Max cleared his throat. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “In my brain.” She managed a wan smile. “He clipped my face when he grabbed me, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to check out the front.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “I need you to come with me so I can keep an eye on you this time. And no walking off unless I say so.”

  “Okay.” She brushed aside his hand and stood on her own, dusting her palms down the front of her jeans.

  “I mean it. Don’t go wandering off.”

  “I said okay.” She followed him, but a scowl narrowed her eyes. The mark on her face had started to bloom. She’d have a nasty bruise there tomorrow.

  They wove through the debris of her belongings and Max walked back out onto the sidewalk to take stock of the area. Rose hovered at the entrance and he glanced at her every few seconds. Everything appeared the same as it had been before with the exception of a missing black car. It could have been the getaway vehicle, or it could belong to a neighbor who’d gone out. He hadn’t heard an engine start, but noise from a renovation a few buildings down drowned out everything else.

  Rubbing a hand along his jaw, he scanned his memory for the model. Nothing. The car had been nondescript, a sedan. Not old, but n
ot brand-new, either.

  His breath puffed out in front of him. The sun had dipped along with the temperature and the light from Rose’s apartment filtered out around her, highlighting her silhouette.

  “What happens now?” she asked as he walked up the path.

  “We should find you a relative to stay with,” he said, motioning for her to go inside. He closed the door behind him, willing the warmth from the apartment to seep into his limbs.

  Silence.

  “What if I don’t have anyone?” she asked, her voice icier than the snow-covered ground outside.

  “What about your father?”

  “It’s complicated. We’re not...” She attempted a smile but it came out more like a grimace. “No, I can’t.”

  “He hired me to look after you. Obviously he’s concerned for your safety.”

  She put up a hand to stop him arguing with her. “I’m not staying with him. End of story. Besides, lightning doesn’t strike twice, right?”

  She wanted him to reassure her. But he couldn’t, not after what had just happened. He wouldn’t jeopardize her safety, not for anything.

  “Don’t you have anyone else to stay with? A friend, another relative?” He knew her mother was deceased, but surely she had someone else in her life.

  “I’ve only been back in New York a month. The closest thing I have to a friend is the barista at the coffee shop I go to every day,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her chin tilted.

  She didn’t want his pity. He could see that as plain as day.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.” Max shook his head again and raked a hand through his hair.

  Everything about this scenario rankled. His gut had told him this was more than a simple robbery. The intruder’s question only solidified his suspicions. The jewels in Rose’s bedroom appeared untouched apart from them being dumped onto her bed, though she’d have to confirm it. He wasn’t a jewelry expert, but he was sure her pieces would be worth something.

  No, this wasn’t just a robbery. A dangerous person wanted something from Rose Lawson, and he was going to find out exactly what it was.

  2

  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 i
nternal 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 had broken into her house either knew her alarm code or had been able to disarm the supposedly top-notch technology. She wasn’t sure which of those two options was worse.