Page 1 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
CHAPTER 1
Jensen
Pretending to ignore the woman at the bar, I casually leaned against it and adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket. As predicted, her eyes immediately moved to me, holding there as she shifted toward me. The change was almost imperceptible, but I was a master of my craft, deftly keying in on the subtle alteration of her posture, the openness in her body.
Still, I ignored her, checking my watch as if I were impatient for something, and cast a hard look at the bartender. She responded to that too—lifting her eyebrows and pressing her lips into the hint of a smile.
Her dark hair was sleek, in an elegant updo that matched the formality of her gown. Deep red with a hint of shimmer, thin straps, plunging neckline, a high slit up one thigh, and stilettos that reminded a man to be careful. She was beautiful, if you liked that sort of thing—sculpted features, thick lashes, full red lips, long manicured nails.
She looked expensive.
It fit. We were in one of the most luxurious hotels in New York City. It was decked out for the holiday season, with a massive Christmas tree in the lobby decorated in silver and gold.Garlands, wreaths, and soft white lights were everywhere, and instrumental Christmas music played in the background.
I flicked my eyes in her direction, and she glanced away, feigning disinterest. I almost smiled. So that was how she wanted to play.
The bartender—she was young and pretty, dressed all in black—came over to take my order. She chewed her lip, and her cheeks flushed as I ordered a scotch, neat.
“I like your accent,” she said.
“Americans usually do.”
“You’re British?”
I nodded and looked away, hoping to dissuade further conversation. Pretty as she was, I wasn’t there to flirt with the bartender. I was angled so I could still see the woman in the red dress and noted a hint of jealousy flash across her face. She liked attention, and it was increasingly irritating her that I refused to give her mine.
Naturally, I continued to tease her with apparent indifference while the bartender served my drink. I took a sip, the amber liquid sliding pleasantly down my throat.
Finally, I deigned to take notice of her.
Turning, I let my eyes sweep up and down with exaggerated slowness. That pleased her. She gave me a similar once-over, and the corners of her mouth lifted.
“Evening.” I looked her up and down again and moved closer. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Her eyes widened as if my offer surprised or maybe even offended her, and she answered in a French accent. “Pardon me, sir. How do you know I’m not here with someone?”
I didn’t bother to look around. “If you are, I daresay he’s unsuitable for having left you alone.”
“Quite so. A woman can’t be too careful.”
“Indeed, she cannot.” I continued moving closer and took another sip of my drink. “But I know you’re alone.”
“How do you know this?”
I met her eyes, my gaze intense. “Because I’ve been watching you.”
She gasped as if that shocked her. I doubted it.
“That’s terribly rude.”
“Is it?” My lips turned up in a devilish grin. “And can you blame me? You must know what that dress does to a man.”
“All right, a drink. It’s the least you can do. That, and tell me your name.”
“Arthur Kingston.” The pseudonym came easily. It was one persona of many. “And you are?”
“Delphine Moreau. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur.”
“I assure you.” I held out my hand, and when she placed hers in mine, I lifted it to my lips and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine.”
