Page 16 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

She felt a little bit warm suddenly. That was an odd collection of words for him to use in regard to her. Definitely a collection of words no man had ever used in her presence.

“Well, I’m only me. For all that it’s worth.”

“And you want to stay here. I can’t say that I fully understand.”

She led the way toward the library, but stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. She looked inside. It looked like... A disaster had occurred.

Not a small one.

“What happened in here?”

“I won’t leave it,” he said.

“You opened a can of soup and made tea?” It looked like he’d performed surgery.

Every cabinet was opened, and there was water all over the place. The microwave was open, and she could see a noodle hanging down from the top of it.

“I have never made soup before.”

“You opened a can and warmed it up. That’s technically not making soup. Not trying to be unkind.”

He scowled. “I am not accustomed to doing such tasks.”

“I bet you never cut wood either. But you didn’t cut your hand off. So there’s that. Have you ever boiled water before?” she asked him.

“Of course not,” he said. “What occasion would I have had to boil water?”

“I don’t know. We don’t actually know each other. We’re just stuck here, on a mountaintop. Because that’s the way things are.” She looked around. “Would you like a hand cleaning up?”

“Of course not. You’re unwell. I want you to go sit and eat your soup. I will clean.”

“I bet you don’t know how to clean either.”

His expression went thunderous. “I know how to clean.”

She went into the library, and sat in a large chair, propping her feet up on a tufted ottoman. He handed her the tray with her soup and tea. It really was a nice gesture, all things considered. What a strange man he was. Not that she had any experience of men to compare him to anybody else. Not that she had any experience with men. She loved her hometown, but the men here were boring. She’d known them for too long, and when you’d known a man when he was thirteen there was little to make him interesting in his twenties.

And the good-looking, exciting men that came to town were either with their wives or husbands. That was just how it went. And there was a parade of very handsome men. Wealthy, sophisticated. Completely out of reach.

He was the first eligible man she had met around here. If you could call a towering inferno of rock, rage and capitalismeligible.

Actually, she didn’t even know if the eligible bit was true. Maybe he was engaged to the woman who would free him from his life of eternal expansion. Though she couldn’t actually get a read on if he wanted that or not.

He definitely didn’t seem to like being under the control of anyone or anything, but she had no idea what he thought about that versus finding a wife. She had no real idea what he thought about anything.

Though she was unhappy to admit he was clearly more complex than she’d initially thought. When she’d told him he was worse than a serial killer.

He wasn’t, obviously. Since, in fairness, a serial killer wouldn’t have nursed her back to health.

She picked up a saltine cracker and ducked it into her chicken soup.

She heard a great commotion going on in the next room, and she ignored it deliberately as she chewed on the corner of the cracker.

He reappeared about twenty-five minutes later.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Are you engaged?”

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