Page 17 of Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

His expression softened like she had, however, and she saw the man she’d watched sleep. “Caring about my safety,” he replied. “Not many peop—That is, I appreciate it.”

A tickle danced across the back of her neck at the gentleness in his voice. If he kept it up, they’d be friends before the bath water grew cold. “Does that mean you’ll consider staying for dinner? I wasn’t kidding about Belinda being disappointed.”

“Well...” He ran his fingers across his mouth and along the back of his neck. “I’d hate to disappoint the woman who sold me her company. I suppose sticking around a few more hours wouldn’t hurt.”

“Good. Belinda will be glad.”

“No one else?”

The cheeky question demanded a shrug in reply. “I might be a little bit relieved. Lack of blood on my hands and all. Enjoy your bath, Mr. Hammond.”

She closed the door before he could see in her eyes that she was way more than a little relieved.

Or that she was starting to like him.

CHAPTER FOUR

JAMES ADDED A log to the fireplace. The wood smoked and sputtered for a moment, before being hidden by the flames rising from the logs beneath. Warmth wrapped around his legs. Legs that were now clad in khakis, thanks to Noelle. She’d cajoled the Nutcracker’s concierge into opening the hotel boutique so he could buy a fresh change of clothing. The casual pants and plaid sports shirt were more stylish than he’d expected, a fact Noelle took great pleasure in mocking once he’d completed his purchase. His rescue elf had a terrifically sharp sense of humor.

Then again, so did he. Tossing retorts back and forth in the car had him feeling as much like his old self as the bath and clean clothes.

Behind him, cheers erupted in the downstairs family room. Someone must have made a good play. A politer man would head down and join the other guests, lest he be labeled unsociable. Since James had stopped caring what people thought of him when he hit puberty, he stayed upstairs. He was content sitting in one of a pair of wingback chairs, studying the fire.

“People were wondering where you were.” Noelle’s heels click-clacked on the hard wooden floor until she drew up beside him. “Don’t tell me you’re not a football fan. Isn’t that against the law in New England?”

“Only a misdemeanor,” he replied. “I’ll be down shortly. I was enjoying the fire. It’s soothing.”

“Hmm. Soothing, huh?” Perching on the arm of a wingback chair, she looked up with a tilted glance. Before leaving the house, she’d swapped her sweatshirt for an angora sweater. The neon blue reflected in her eyes, giving them a gemlike glow. “Let me guess,” she said, “you’re not a fan of crowds either. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I don’t dislike them,” he replied. “But you’re right, I prefer being by myself.” It was easier that way. Less picking up on the negative vibes.

He shifted in his seat. The small space between the chairs caused their knees to knock. Laughing, they both pushed the seats back. “Let me guess,” he said, “you love crowds.”

“I don’t love them, but they don’t bother me either. I spent most of my childhood having to share my space, so I’m used to it.”

An interesting choice of words. “You came from a big family then?”

“Not really.”

Then with whom was she sharing space?

“Did you get enough to eat? There’s more corn bread casserole if you’d like some.”

“Dear God no,” he replied. “Four servings is enough, thank you.” Why such an abrupt change of subject? He was under the impression she was all about family. “I can’t believe I ate as much as I did.”

“That’s what you get for sitting next to Belinda and her ever-moving serving spoon.”

“Plus almost two days without eating.” He literally had been the starving man at the buffet. The perfect match for Belinda’s serving spoon.

Noelle wasn’t joking when she said her mother-in-law cooked up a storm for the holiday. The woman must have served three times as much as the guests could eat. Granted, the turkey and side dishes were nothing like the five-star fare the family chef set out—on those rare occasions he and Jackson celebrated together—but James had enjoyed eating them ten times more. The food today came with wine and laughter and conversation. Real conversation. The kind where people debated, then joked the tension away. No stilted dialogues or pretend interest in each other’s lives.

And not a single tumbler hurled across the room.

Funny how that memory had reappeared today, after twenty years of staying buried. Especially since it happened on Christmas Eve. Thanksgiving had been a Tiffany candlestick. Or had that been the dinner plate? The flying objects blended together after a while.

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